


touch me, touch the sky

by glittering_git



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Allusions to Various Creature Attacks, Anal Sex, Animagus, Anxiety, Auror Draco Malfoy, Background Femslash, Bars and Pubs, Blood and Injury, Blow Jobs, Committing Acts of Violence Under a Spell, Compulsion, Couch Sex, Creature Discrimination, Creature Fic, Dirty Talk, Draco Malfoy & Pansy Parkinson Friendship, Drinking, Face-Fucking, Getting Together, H/D Erised 2020, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Kidnapping, M/M, Magical Creatures Consultant Harry Potter, Mates, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Non-Graphic Violence, POV Draco Malfoy, Panic Attacks, Post-Hogwarts, Rimming, Secrets, Sectumsempra Scars (Harry Potter), Switching, Tattoos, Trans Female Character, Unusual Career, Veela Draco Malfoy, Wandless Magic, wing fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:35:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 34,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27647588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glittering_git/pseuds/glittering_git
Summary: Draco Malfoy has been an Auror for six years, but he’s never done anything more than push paper. When he and his new partner get called in on the biggest case the DMLE has worked in ages, Draco thinks his luck has finally changed.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 101
Kudos: 314
Collections: H/D Erised 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fencer_x](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fencer_x/gifts).



> fencer_x, it was such a joy to write this story for you! I took your love of fun/interesting magical creatures and ran with it. I hope that it brings you some happiness this holiday season :D
> 
> This fic would not have been possible without my truly outstanding support team. Thank you to [LowerEastSide](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LowerEastSide) for being with me from the start, for your encouragement and sharp attention to detail, to [MalenkayaCherepakha](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MalenkayaCherepakha) for your impeccable britpicking, to [Ineharnia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ineharnia) for the thoughtfulness and care you put into your sensitivity read, and to [mfish](https://ramalama-bangbang.tumblr.com/), whose belief in my writing makes me want to keep creating ♥
> 
> A huge thank you to the mods for doing such an amazing job, and for granting me the extensions that I needed to whip this into shape. Your continued patience, encouragement, and kindness are what make this fest so amazing!

_**Prologue** _

_You hate what he did to you, and you rightfully should. You’ve become the monster mothers warn their children about before bed._

_You’ve learned to manage your condition admirably, but you still cannot escape what you are. They will never let you forget._

_You scream as the potion forces you to Turn, your body only used to doing so on full moons. Your features twist and stretch, your bones break and reform, longer and lighter. Soon, you have a mouth full of pointed teeth, and you’re out for blood. There’s no trace of the girl you were moments ago._

_You look around the dark alleyway for a target for your ire, but something compels you to wait. You shake your head slightly, unused to taking orders in this form, but the compulsion becomes stronger, and you find that you can’t move._

_You see two people enter the alleyway, one being dragged by the other. The compulsion releases its hold on you, but it tells you to wait, then advance._

_There’s an unconscious body on the street, and the monster has come out to play. You pounce._

* * *

Draco heaved a sigh, and only Narcissa Malfoy’s intense etiquette training kept him from smashing his head on his desk. He’d been summoned to Robards’ office yet again—and everyone in the whole goddamn department knew why. 

He was getting a new partner. Again. For the sixth time in as many years. 

“Why couldn’t Tim have stayed?” Draco complained to Pansy, who had come to his office as soon as she’d seen the bright red note wing its way towards him. “We’d _finally_ reached the point where we trusted each other.”

Pansy laid one hand on his shoulder. “You know why,” she said gently. Draco hated her pity. He didn’t need it from anyone, least of all Pansy. He shrugged his shoulders, and she let her hand fall. “But this could be a good thing, Draco. Maybe your new partner will be really fit.” 

“Unlike some people I know, I don’t rate my partners on their looks.” 

“You just say that so Hermione won’t reprimand you. _I_ know you better than that—you’d draw a chart on one of those Muggle whiteboards if you thought you could get away with it.” She plucked the red note out of Draco’s hand and scanned it quickly. “And as much as I love getting paid to tease you, you’ve got a meeting to attend.” 

Draco snatched the note back and smoothed it out, steeling himself for yet another green partner. 

“I promise it will be okay,” Pansy said, more seriously. “Even if Robards has his head too far up his arse to notice your hard work, everyone else does.” She kissed the tips of her fingers and brought them up to Draco’s cheek in a familiar gesture. “And drinks on me at The Starr tonight.” 

Draco caught her fingers before she could take them away and brought them to his lips. “Thank you. You really are the best friend a bloke could ask for.” Pansy smiled and turned to leave.

“And don’t you forget it, Malfoy,” she called over her shoulder as she strode out the door. Draco smiled softly and let Pansy have the last word. He pushed his chair back and stood up, his mind slipping into its routine of pushing down his unhappiness and lack of satisfaction with his job and putting up the infamous Malfoy veneer. Draco sometimes wished he could lower his guard, but he knew that there were those in the department who would sense his weakness and wouldn’t hesitate to kick him while he was down. 

He walked over to the coat hooks in the corner and pulled down his standard-issue maroon Auror robes. He put them on slowly, almost reverently, fastening the silver buttons one by one until he closed the last one around his throat. Although he’d done this more times than he could count, there was something that struck him every time he was in his full uniform. Some small thrill that he, Draco Malfoy, had become an Auror, despite many not wanting him to. He tried to hold onto that confidence as he headed towards Robards’ office. 

When he reached the Head Auror’s office, his secretary, Blake, greeted him with a wan smile. “Hi, Draco. Robards’ meeting with Unspeakable Padley is running a bit late, so I’m afraid you’ll have to wait out here.” 

“That’s fine,” Draco assured him. “It’s about the creature case, isn’t it?”

“You know I can’t say much,” Blake whispered, but he was looking around surreptitiously. When he found a sufficient lack of people in the nearby vicinity, he continued, “But just between you and me, yes. There was another incident, and Robards is worried that this is becoming a pattern.” 

Draco was keen to ask more, but he knew pushing Blake wouldn’t yield anything, so he just nodded and went to sit in one of the waiting chairs. As he started to sit down, though, someone called his name.

Draco turned towards the voice and saw a young, tall witch smiling at him. She had wavy, dark brown hair that fell just past her shoulders and wore slim, rectangular glasses. “I’m sorry, but I couldn’t help but overhear Blake say your name. You’re Draco Malfoy?” 

“Yes,” Draco responded, a bit warily. “And who are you?” 

“Oh, right, I should probably introduce myself.” The witch stood up and held out her hand. “Lucy Shaw, pleased to meet you. I’m your new partner.” 

Draco shook her hand. “Shaw, nice to meet you as well. It seems you know more about this situation than I do,” Draco confessed, not surprised. 

“Oh, please, if we’re to be partners, call me Lucy.” 

“Lucy, then.” After a beat, Draco added, “And please, call me Draco.” 

“Well, I only know because I begged Auror Mackie to tell me.” She shrugged. “And since he has a soft spot for me, it wasn’t too much effort getting it out of him.” 

_Great, a Hermione Granger level suck-up_ , Draco thought. He sighed internally, but outwardly, he said, “That’s great. I’m glad to know I have a partner who comes with such high praise.” 

“I can’t tell if you’re being snarky or not, but since it’s our first day, I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt.” Lucy continued to smile sunnily at him, and Draco had to admit that he liked the idea of having a partner who would call him on his bullshit. 

Before he had a chance to respond, the door to Robards’ office opened and Unspeakable Padley left, looking harried. Robards stuck his head out of the office soon after and spotted Draco and Lucy. 

“Oh, good. I see that you two have already met. Saves me a meeting, really. Malfoy, this is Lucy Shaw. She graduated top of her Academy class, so I’m sure we’ll be seeing big things from her. I won’t lecture you about what needs to be done to finalise this partnership—you know the ropes pretty well by now, eh?” he ended with a slight chuckle, and Draco had to remind himself for the umteempth time that he was thrilled to be there—that this job was worth the burden. 

“You don’t need to worry about us. I’m sure Lucy and I will get along just fine.”

* * *

When Draco arrived at The Starr that evening, he only had space for thoughts about the world’s finest whisky on the rocks. Although Lucy had been scarily competent, and surprisingly funny, it was still exhausting getting to know a new person. So when he got to his and Pansy’s usual booth and saw her latest fling, he had the primal urge to scream. 

Pansy saw his expression and gave him one of her own death glares. “Hi, Draco. You remember El. El, Draco.” 

Draco gave her a curt nod. “Nice to see you again.” 

“El was just leaving. She just stopped by for a quick hello.” Pansy leaned in for a quick peck. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then, darling.”

“Bye. It was good to see you, Draco,” she responded before getting up and turning to leave. 

Once she’d gone, Draco slid into the round booth, preparing himself for a berating from Pansy. “I apologise,” he said, holding his arms up and preemptively heading off her ire. “It’s been a long day and I’m not in the mood for socialising—but still, that’s no excuse for me to be rude.”

“You’re damn right it’s not. I know Narcissa instilled better manners in you than that.” Pansy shook her head. “Besides, I want you and El to get along.” 

“‘ _Stopping by for a quick hello_ ’,” Draco mimicked. “You’re not one to do quick hellos and pet names.” To anyone else, Pansy’s expression wouldn’t have seemed like it had changed—her eyes still sharp and clear, her head held high. But to Draco, who’d known Pansy all his life, he could see a softening in her gaze—a look that told him she was serious. 

“I don’t normally do those things, no. But with El, well”—she looked slightly off to the side in embarrassment—“it’s different.” Pansy turned her gaze back on Draco and took a sip of what Draco assumed was her favourite white. “I do hope that one day you’ll understand for yourself.” 

Now it was Draco’s turn to look away. He didn’t like to talk about his own string of failed relationships. After he and Astoria had both realised they were too young to be getting married, and more importantly, that they both were into men, Draco had not been in a relationship that lasted longer than six months. And it wasn’t for lack of trying, either. He wanted to find someone who suited him as well as his parents suited each other. Despite his father’s numerous flaws, the love and regard he held for his mother was not one of them. “I hope so, too, love.” 

The table was quiet for a moment while Pansy put in his drink order with a whispered spell. The Starr was known for its privacy—there wasn’t any visible waiting staff, and food and drinks appeared directly on the table with a neat bit of spell work. Each table had almost Auror-level privacy spells that could be easily activated, which Draco did while they waited for his drink. 

“How did your meeting with Robards go?” 

“It didn’t.” Draco shook his head slightly. “He was still in a meeting with Unspeakable Padley at the time of my appointment, and while I was waiting, my new partner introduced herself.” 

A soft _pop_ sounded and a crystal-cut tumbler appeared, filled with two fingers of whisky and a single ice cube floating in the centre. Draco raised the tumbler to his lips and took a small sip, letting the smooth flavour sit on his tongue before swallowing. 

“And how was she?” Pansy prompted.

“She was energetic, sort of like a Cruppy, but in a good way. She’s a smart dresser; we’ll make quite the pair at DMLE events.” At Pansy’s disbelieving look, Draco continued. “She’s intelligent, graduated top of her Auror class, and most importantly, she doesn’t seem to give two fucks about being partnered with Draco Malfoy, which is honestly the best I hope for from my new partners.” Draco shrugged. 

“Was she fit?” 

“I thought things were getting serious with El. Why do you care?” Draco teased. 

“I don’t care for myself, obviously,” Pansy protested. “But maybe I know other people who do.”

Draco, who was usually willing to indulge Pansy in most anything, simply did not have the energy tonight. “You’ll see for yourself soon enough.” 

“You’re no fun.” Pansy reached over the table and flicked Draco’s arm. “But I think I have some news that you’ll be interested to hear.” She looked around the dimly lit bar, but as there was no waiting staff and it was after the dinner rush, the place was relatively empty. Just to be safe, she picked up her wand and cast a variation of _Muffliato_ that caused anyone within earshot to hear nothing but conversation about the weather. “I know who was involved in the latest incident.” 

“Who?” Draco asked eagerly. The creature case was the biggest investigation the DMLE had, but as a Junior Auror and an ex-Death Eater, Draco certainly wasn’t privy to any information. 

“Lavender Brown, from Hogwarts.” At Draco’s blank look, Pansy continued. “She was that mousy-haired Gryffindor who was always squealing or laughing.” 

“Oh, I vaguely remember her. Fuck. Do you know what happened?” 

“Same thing as with the other two. She says she doesn’t remember a thing, but her magical signature was all over the crime scene, and when magi-forensics tested the saliva found on the victim, it was a match.” Pansy’s eyes sparked with curiosity as she talked, her innate desire to know what was going on at all times a real asset to her Auror work. “St Mungo’s was very clear—the victim was mauled by a werewolf.” 

“And Brown is a werewolf?”

“Yeah, she was bitten by Greyback back in the war.”

“ _Fuck._ ”

“My thoughts exactly.” Pansy took a long drink of her wine. Draco wished it wasn’t a Tuesday so he could get incredibly pissed and forget all about Greyback and werewolves and death. “Ron and I already have two separate meetings with Robards tomorrow to discuss more.”

“You’ll have to keep me updated,” Draco insisted.

“Of course. We may be nine years out of Hogwarts, but sometimes us Slytherins have to stick together.” She raised her glass, and Draco raised his in return. 

“I’ll drink to that.” They clinked their glasses.


	2. Chapter 2

Draco stepped into a Ministry lift and thanked Merlin that it was empty. It had not been a good Monday morning—his alarm had had the temerity to go off at half past six, and he’d hexed it as soon as he could find his wand. Then it hadn’t gone off again, and he’d missed his chance to have a proper cup of tea. He did not need the snide looks that came with a crowded lift. 

But just as the doors were preparing to close, a voice called, “Oi, could you hold the doors, please?” Fuck. Just when he thought his morning couldn’t get any worse, now Harry bloody Potter was trying to get in the bloody lift with him. He seriously contemplated for half a second about letting the doors close anyway, but his manners got the best of him, and he surged forwards to stick his hand between them before they could slide shut on the bloody saviour. 

They opened silently to a slightly out of breath Harry Potter, who had no right to look so bloody good at this hour of the morning. He was wearing his usual Muggle jeans, in a great _fuck you_ to wizarding tradition, but Draco could admit, if only to himself, that he was quite glad Potter eschewed the traditional robes. Wizarding robes did not emphasise one’s lean, muscular legs quite so well.

In an apparent nod to being at the Ministry, he’d put on a soft green flannel shirt that Draco knew would most certainly make his eyes look even brighter. And that was confirmed when he finally raised his gaze from Potter’s broad chest to see how nicely the shirt emphasised the deep green of Potter’s eyes. 

“Er, thanks, Malfoy,” Potter said, bringing one hand up behind his head and giving Draco the smile that had won _Witch Weekly’s_ Best Smile of the Year Award for five years running. Draco gave him a tight smile and stepped to the back of the lift, hoping against hope Potter would let the ride pass in silence. 

“You’re looking much better than the last time I saw you.” No such luck. Draco stayed silent, hoping this would deter Potter from continuing the conversation. He had no desire to speak about the last time he’d seen Potter, which had been at a wretched Ministry gala—the kind of thing he was always invited to, but everyone hoped he’d have the good sense not to attend. He hated going, but he thought it was better than being a coward and hiding. In order to make it through those kinds of evenings with any sense of his sanity intact, he always had to have a steady supply of alcohol and Pansy by his side. “I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to offend. You always look good,” Potter mumbled, “But you look less…”

Draco couldn’t help the way he preened at Potter’s praise, but he quickly quelled it. “Sloshed, Potter. Yes, as it’s nine in the morning on a Monday, and I’m at work, I’m not pissed.” 

“Well, that’s good. Seems like it’d be a bit hard to do your job if you were.”

“What are you—” Draco started to ask, but a soft voice over the speaker interrupted him. _Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Level 2._ Draco waited politely for Potter to exit the lift. When Potter didn’t, he looked up and saw Potter was waiting for him to exit first. 

Knowing Potter was too stubborn for his own good, Draco decided to just go ahead and get off the lift. And it would’ve been fine if Potter had continued to wait like the gentleman he purported to be. Instead, Potter also chose that moment to leave, and so they both ended up exiting at the same time. Or trying to. 

The problem was that the lift doors weren’t wide enough to comfortably fit two grown men, so they both ended up trying to occupy the same space at the same time. Draco’s right shoulder jostled against Potter’s left, and when he tried to turn sideways so that Potter could step through the doors, he overbalanced and ended up crashing into Potter’s chest. Potter’s arms wrapped around Draco’s shoulders, and it felt so nice to be held that Draco momentarily forgot what he was doing. 

“Erm,” Potter said, gently righting Draco and pushing him through the doors. He stepped away from Potter and pointedly did not make eye contact with him. “Are you good, Malfoy?” Potter asked as he stepped out of the damn lift. 

“Yes, thanks to you.” Draco knew he was blushing, but he pointedly ignored it and hoped Potter would do the same. 

“Harry!” Weasley called, and Draco thanked Merlin for Weasleys and their impeccable timing. “You’re late. Robards is waiting for you.” 

“Sorry, Ron.” Potter sounded sheepish. “I’m not really much of a morning person.” 

“Yeah, yeah, we all get that you’re self-employed, mate. You don’t have to rub it in our faces.” 

“You know it’s not like that,” Potter protested. “And in answer to your earlier question, Malfoy, I’m here consulting on a case.” 

Figured. Even Harry bloody Potter, who didn’t even work at the damn Ministry, got to know more about the case than Draco. 

“Well, good luck.” 

“Thanks.” Potter gave him one last look, but was soon corralled down the hall by Weasley. Draco sighed and headed towards his small office, ready to put Potter entirely out of his mind.

* * *

Thankfully, Draco had a busy morning filled with paperwork that required his full attention, so he had no extra time to think about a certain green-eyed git. His lunch hour, though, was another matter entirely. He was daydreaming when the door to their office slammed open. 

“Did you see what McAllistair planned for our next department meeting?” Lucy asked, striding into their office with fast and jerky movements. Instead of going to sit down, she began to pace in the small area between the edge of their desks and the open door. 

“No,” Draco began, trying to speak as calmly as possible. Lucy was definitely the more excitable of the two of them, but he hadn’t seen her quite like this before. “What?” 

“Bloody wanker wants us to bring in photos of when we were children, and we’re going to try to guess who is who.” Lucy practically spat. “I’m not going to do it. You can’t make me.” 

“No one will make you do anything you don’t want to,” Draco said softly. “At least, not here,” he added under his breath. 

“Good.” 

But Draco could tell Lucy was still keyed up. “We’ve finished up all our necessary paperwork for today and the rest can wait until tomorrow. What do you say to stepping out and grabbing a cuppa?” 

Lucy nodded. “I can’t think of anything better, honestly.” They grabbed their coats and were quickly on their way. 

Once they’d exited the Ministry and were in the melee of Muggle London, Draco led them to his favourite cafe, Flour Power. It was a charming place that looked like a Pygmy Puff had vomited pastels everywhere, and Draco loved it. It was cosy and peaceful, and most importantly, not frequented by the wizarding community. 

He strode straight up to the cotton-candy pastel counter, and Liz greeted him with a cheery smile. “Your usual, Draco?” she asked, already grabbing a medium paper cup and writing _LF, ex foam_ on the side. 

“Of course, thank you. And whatever Lucy wants to order,” he added. 

“I’ll just take a black tea, no milk or sugar, please.” 

“Coming right up. And can I tell you how much I love your coat? It’s the perfect yellow for spring.” 

Lucy smiled and did a graceful twirl. “Thank you. I wasn’t sure if I could make it work, but I’m glad you think so.” 

“Oh, it’s working for you, honey.” Liz grabbed another paper cup and then reached for the tea bags on top of the espresso machine, opening an English Breakfast and placing it in the cup and then sliding it down to where Luke was making Draco’s London Fog. “That’ll be £6.50.” Draco handed her a tenner, and when she tried to give him change, he refused, like he always did. 

Once their teas were ready, they brought them over to a back corner table. 

“It is a really nice coat,” Draco told Lucy. “I’d never think to buy a yellow one, but you’re making me reconsider.” 

“We could match.” Lucy smiled. “We’d even fit in here, with all these pastels. But you’re telling me that you’re a regular?” Lucy asked, the disbelief evident in the way she was looking from him, to the interior of the cafe, and back to him again. 

“I admit that it might not make a lot of sense, but, well…” Draco trailed off, trying to gather his thoughts. He didn’t normally share much about himself with strangers, but then again, he didn’t _want_ Lucy to be a stranger. “When I first started as an Auror trainee, I left each day wanting to get as far away from it all as I could. I wanted to be there, but a lot of people didn’t want me there.” 

Lucy was nodding a bit, as if she knew what it was like to want out. 

“One day, I stumbled across this place, and my first thought was, Draco Malfoy: Death Eater extraordinaire, wouldn’t be caught dead in a place like that. So I went in.” Draco laughed softly, remembering what a sore sight he must’ve looked all those years ago. He’d still been too skinny, the effects of the war still so obvious in the way he carried himself and the dark circles under his eyes. “I didn’t have Muggle money, of course, but Liz was too generous and gave me my first London Fog for free. Ever since then, I’ve come here—when I need a reprieve from my life and all of _that_ ”—he gestured to the world outside the cafe—“and Liz is always waiting with a warm cuppa.” 

“Thank you for sharing it with me,” Lucy said. “I certainly needed to get away from it all.” She took a small sip of her tea. “I’m sure you’re wondering what happened back in the office.” 

“Only if you want to tell me.” 

“I do. You shared this with me, and if we’re going to be good partners, we need to trust each other, right?” Draco nodded encouragingly. “The reason that I hate sharing childhood photos is that I don’t look like…” she trailed off and looked away, seemingly searching for something. Draco didn’t say anything, knowing it was often quiet space that was helpful. “Well, they don’t look like me,” Lucy finished in a rush. 

Draco took a drink of his London Fog, revelling in the contrast between the creamy foam and the hot tea. He suspected he knew what Lucy was getting at, but he didn’t want to put words in her mouth. “Why don’t they look like you?” he asked gently, when the silence had stretched long between them. 

“Because it’s not who I am. Those photos are of a little boy, and I’m not a boy.” Lucy looked at him defiantly. “I’m a woman.” 

Draco nodded in agreement. He knew a few trans men and women, but he’d never had a conversation like this before, never been trusted with this, and he didn’t want to fuck it up. He liked Lucy, and he wanted her to keep liking him. 

“Are you going to say anything?” 

“You’ll hear no arguments from me,” Draco reassured her. “I’m here to support you, however you want.” 

“Oh.” She looked away again. “That wasn’t the reaction I was expecting.”

Draco sighed. Of course. “It’s been ten years. I’ve changed since that boy you probably heard about in your History of Magic course.”

Lucy looked chastised. “That was probably unfair of me.” 

“If we’re going to make a proper go of this, we have to give each other the benefit of the doubt. Deal?” Draco held his hand out, and Lucy took it.


	3. Chapter 3

Draco looked down at his hands. They were looking pretty rough, and when he flipped them over to take a better look at his cuticles, he shuddered. He needed to see Brenna, his favourite manicurist, soon. 

“Oi, Malfoy, Shaw, Robards is ready for you,” Weasley called as he and Pansy left Robards’ office. Pansy gave him a small smile as she walked by, and Draco took that to mean that nothing bad was happening. Two times he’d been summoned to Robards’ office in as many weeks. 

Lucy stood up from her chair and went through the now open door. Draco took a breath, held it for a moment, and then let it out with a deep sigh. After the war, which had ended with Draco’s father locked up in Azkaban for life, his mother had searched for anything that could bring herself a modicum of comfort. While sorting through the old Malfoy library, she’d found a book that was written by a Hindu wizard who’d chronicled his meditation practice. When Draco saw how much it helped his mother, he asked her to teach him as well. 

“Malfoy, would you shut the door behind you?” Robards asked in his gruff voice. Draco did so and felt the protective layers of wards curl around him. Lucy was already sat in the left chair, so Draco moved to sit in the right one, lowering himself down and crossing his left ankle over his right, folding his hands primly in his lap and then raising his gaze to meet Robards’. “There’s been a development with the creature case, and we need to bring you in.” Robards looked to Draco, and he felt the thrill of being needed burn through his veins like the most potent potion. 

Years of training himself to repress any emotion, most of all excitement, made Draco’s response measured and cool. “For my potions expertise, I presume?” He phrased it like a question, but he knew there’d be no other reason the DMLE would seek him out when they’d done such a good job of ignoring him for six years. 

“Yes”—Robards gave Lucy a sheepish look—“and since you’re Malfoy’s partner, we’re bringing you in as well.” 

Draco could see Lucy smile eagerly, and he couldn’t blame her. This would be her first big case. Hell, it’d be his, too. “I’m just excited to be doing something a bit more engaging than paperwork,” she said. “They really don’t prepare you for how much of the job is bloody paperwork.”

“I’ll give you an overview of the case now, but you’ll have a chance to look over the files later today.” Draco and Lucy nodded their heads in tandem. “A month and a half ago, Aurors were called out to Camden to handle what they thought was a noise complaint. It turned out to be a werewolf attack, which wouldn’t even register as anything out of the ordinary except that the werewolf insisted he was innocent, despite Aurors catching him at the crime scene covered in blood.” Robards paused as the red indicator on his inbox began flashing. He reached for the memo that appeared, reading it with a frown on his face. Draco assumed it was case related, but Robards didn’t say anything about it.

“We stumbled upon the next attack by accident. Our Aurors were doing their regular patrolling in East London when they heard someone scream. They went to investigate, and found something eerily similar to the first crime scene. A half-transformed werewolf, a victim, and no memories. The third case, which happened two weekends ago, repeated the pattern.”

Draco assumed the third attacker was Lavender Brown.

“We’d previously thought the werewolves we found at all three crime scenes were working together but claiming to have forgotten what had happened. However, we recently learned that these people were forced to Turn against their will by a very strong potion. There are some elements of the potion that also affect the person’s memory, which makes our jobs even more difficult.”

“Will I have access to the Unspeakables’ notes?” Draco knew the Department of Mysteries had been conducting research and that being able to see what they’d discovered about how the potion interacted with the victim’s blood would be important.

“Of course.” Robards nodded. “You’ll have everything you need. You’ll actually have a chance to examine the potion itself because we got a tip about where it’s being made.” 

“Really?” Draco couldn’t keep the eagerness out of his voice. He was so close to doing something truly important, for once, and he wasn’t going to let the opportunity slip out of his grasp, not when he could almost taste it. “Do you need our assistance?” 

“That’s why you’re here, Malfoy. We’ll be raiding the warehouse tonight. Find Weasley and Parkinson, and they’ll tell you what your roles will be.”

* * *

Weasley was standing in the centre of the Auror offices, and Draco could almost see why he’d been promoted to Senior Auror. He’d changed from that goofy boy at Hogwarts into a real leader—confident, competent, and well-spoken. Draco made a face; he wouldn’t be caught dead saying any of this aloud. 

“Why do you look like you’ve just sucked on a lemon?” Pansy asked, nudging Draco in the side. 

“I was just having _complimentary_ thoughts about Weasley, and it felt unnatural.” 

Pansy nudged him harder. “Hey, that’s my partner up there. Have some respect, Malfoy.” 

Draco shoved her right back. She was being a bit of a twat, but then again, so was he. “I do,” Draco insisted. “That’s the problem, you know?” 

Pansy just smirked at him. “You ready for your first big raid?” 

“Of course. If six years of reading the Auror’s handbook didn’t prepare me, then I’m not sure what will. Besides, we’re just going to collect evidence, so the risks should be relatively low.” 

“You’ll be fine,” Pansy reassured. 

“Thanks, your confidence in my abilities means everything to me.” 

Pansy smacked him again. “You’re being such an arse.”

“But I’m your arse, and you love me.” Draco looked around the room. “Speaking of arses, where’s Potter?” 

“He does have a nice one.” 

“I meant, is he joining us?” He wasn’t going to admit he agreed with her. 

“No, Harry and his fine arse are not, unfortunately for you.” 

Before Draco could respond, Weasley was signalling to the group. Draco and Pansy and the rest of the assorted Aurors held out their wands and prepared to Apparate to a hidden side street that was a few minutes away from the warehouse in Kentish Town. Weasley signalled two groups to go before it was Draco and Lucy’s turn. When he held up three fingers, Draco tightened his grip on his wand, took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and Apparated. 

The Ministry spun away, and Draco landed in a cold alleyway. Lucy landed a second after, and they both turned to look at each other. Draco motioned towards the direction they were supposed to move, and Lucy took the lead. He followed close behind, wand held in a defensive position. 

Their group had been tasked with approaching the warehouse from the left entrance, which had a hidden door that needed a bit of fancy spellwork to be opened, but thankfully Draco had passed curse breaking with excellent marks. He had the door open in less than a minute and ushered everyone else through. 

The warehouse was dark, the only light coming from the lone street lamp filtering through the grimy windows. Draco raised his wand and whispered _Lumos_ , illuminating his path just enough so they wouldn’t crash into any unknown potion ingredients. The Aurors who had cased the place earlier had said no one ever came on Fridays, so although they were being cautious, they also weren’t expecting any company. This mission was solely about obtaining evidence. 

He started moving deeper into the warehouse, carefully avoiding the haphazardly placed tall shelves filled with Merlin knew what. As they continued to move forward, the placement of the items seemed less random and more planned. It almost seemed like someone had purposefully put the items there to make it harder for someone to get in. 

“Wait, it’s a—” 

A bright Stunning Spell lit up the workshop, and Draco’s suspicions were confirmed. They’d been expected. He quickly cast _Protego_ and then searched for Lucy. She had moved past Draco and was now headed straight for the individual who had cast the spell. Damn. He dropped his shield and tried to get to her, but a sharp _crack_ to his left forced him to turn. 

Before he had a chance to see who had sent the curse, he felt a coolness on his back like someone had dumped a bucket of water over him. He turned and faced his attacker, wand raised in defence, a _Petrificus Totalus_ on his lips. But before he could cast, his back exploded in white-hot pain, and he had to focus simply on staying upright. It was soon a losing battle, and he sunk slowly to the floor, now only wishing for sweet release. 

_No. No,_ Draco thought through the pain. His vision blurred and he tried so hard to keep his eyes open. He couldn’t be dying. It would kill his mum. She’d been through too much. 

_I’m so sorry._


	4. Chapter 4

_**Interlude** _

_You are on the ground in pain, your eyes closed. You feel like you are dying, but you are not. Rather, you are beginning the transformation process. You are becoming the monster you so desperately wished not to be._

_You are lying prone, and your colleagues, who do not yet know that you are a monster, are trying to protect you. They fight the attackers; they get you out of the cold warehouse. They think it’s a victory._

_Once outside, the potion takes full effect and you transform completely. You do not know the looks of horror on their faces, but they’re nothing more than you deserve._

_You don’t know this yet—but you will soon find out—you cannot escape the monster you’ve become._

* * *

Draco woke from the darkness, heaving in gulps of air as his body was reminded of what it meant to be alive. This was made more challenging because he was lying on his stomach. He tried to turn on his back so he could take in more of that sweet, cool air, but he found that he _couldn’t._

_Why couldn’t he turn onto his back? What the hell happened at the raid?_

Draco felt his heart rate speed up as the terror of not knowing what was going on took over his mind. He tried to focus on his breathing, in and out, but it wasn’t enough. His heart rate continued to spike, and he started feeling lightheaded. 

From far off in the distance, Draco thought he heard someone call his name. 

“Malfoy, can you hear me? It’s Harry Potter.” 

Some part of Draco’s mind was snickering. Of course Harry bloody Potter was there. He always seemed to catch Draco at his most vulnerable—which was really quite unfortunate, all things considered. 

“Malfoy, can you tell me five things that you can see?” 

When the only sound that could be heard was Draco’s laboured breathing, Potter repeated his question. “Please, Malfoy. Can you open your eyes and tell me five things you can see?” 

Draco knew deep down Potter would not leave him alone until he got what he wanted, so he opened his eyes and raised his head a few centimetres. “Pillow, sheets.” That was two things. He raised his head a bit more. “Bedside table, lamp.” He looked at the underside of his left wrist, where he’d been branded at the height of his teenage folly. “Dark Mark.”

“Good. That’s good. Now, can you tell me four things you can touch?” 

Draco reached his left hand out. “Bedside table.” He reached up. “Lamp.” He moved it back to the bed. “Sheets and pillow.” 

“Three things you can hear?” 

“Your voice.” Draco was quiet for a moment, listening. His heart rate was still elevated, but he could feel it slowing down. His breathing was still quick, and the sound of his breath _whooshing_ in and out was calming to him. “My breath.” He could hear the Weird Sisters coming from another room. “The Weird Sisters.” 

“Two smells?” 

Draco took a deep breath. The sheets smelled lightly of lavender. “Lavender.” There was also a lingering smell of healing magic in the room. “Magic.” 

“One thing you can taste?” 

Draco thought about it for a moment, moving his tongue around in his mouth. It tasted faintly of lavender. “Lavender.”

“Good.” Potter paused for a moment, and Draco was still. He hadn’t tried to turn over again—he knew that he couldn’t, and he didn’t want to prompt another panic attack. “How’re you feeling?” he asked, surprisingly gentle. On top of everything else, Draco felt wrong-footed and unsure. They didn’t do gentleness. 

“Weird,” Draco admitted honestly. “But better, so thank you.” 

“Er, you’re welcome.” It seemed that now the crisis was over, they were back on more familiar ground. Draco closed his eyes again and hoped maybe this was all a dream. “I’ll let you get a bit more rest.” Draco heard Potter’s footsteps fade away. He drifted off, lulled by the quiet and the softness of the bed, his body letting go of its tightly wound anxiety. 

_Wait, why was Potter there?_ was his last thought as sleep overtook him.

* * *

When Draco woke once more, he noticed how much better he felt than the first time. Maybe it really had been a dream. He took a deep breath, fortifying himself, and tried to roll onto his back. 

Something stopped him yet again. 

He took another breath, forcing himself to think about his predicament in a rational manner. If he couldn’t roll onto his back, then fine. He’d just have to figure out why. He levered himself off the bed and looked around the room. 

It was a pleasantly cosy space, all dark wood and warm, burnt oranges. There was a large print of the Tube map hanging on the wall across from the bed above the fireplace, which instantly became the most interesting feature of the room in Draco’s mind. Ever since he’d begun braving the Muggle world, he’d become fascinated with the way Muggle machinery worked without magic. He was convinced that the Tube had to have magical spells woven into it, because how else could it run as smoothly as it did? 

But as much as he’d like to pore over the map, there were more pressing matters at hand. He continued to survey the room—there were two windows that let in streaming sunlight, and a few green plants floated near the tops of the panes. Just to the left of the fireplace, there was a mirror that Draco now approached with trepidation. 

The first thing that struck him was that he was shirtless. Had Potter, the bastard, undressed him? The second, much more worrying thing, was that it appeared like he had wings. Long, slate-grey, feathered appendages extended from his shoulders outwards, and Draco watched in horrified fascination as he realised he could control them. If he clenched his shoulders, the wings seemed to partly collapse, and if he thought about reaching them out, they spread wide. 

“You’ve discovered the wings,” someone commented dryly from the doorway, and Draco spun around to see Pansy. His left wing hit one of the hanging plants, and he had to focus on coaxing it to retract. Once all assorted plant life was safe, he turned the full force of his glare on her. 

“What the hell happened back there, Pans? One minute, I was trying to warn everyone that we were walking into a trap, and the next, well”—he gestured around the strange bedroom—“I woke up here and Potter of all people was helping me manage a panic attack.” Draco tried to keep his tone sharp and defensive, but by the end, he knew his anguish was apparent, especially to someone who’d known him as long as Pansy had. 

“Oh darling, I’m sorry that I wasn’t there when you woke up the first time.” She stepped into the room and slowly approached him, holding her arms out for a hug. Draco wanted to deny her, and punish her a bit for leaving him with Potter, but he wanted the comfort of her hug even more. He wasn’t sure how it would work with his new wings, but when he opened his arms, she slipped hers around his waist, evading the wings like she’d been doing it her whole life. Draco buried his nose in her hair, breathing in her familiar shampoo of bergamot and citrus. 

“I just don’t understand what happened.” Draco hated being out of control more than anything, most likely an aftereffect of living with a megalomaniac and having his major life decisions dictated by a father who had little care for his own wellbeing. 

Pansy released him from the hug and motioned at the bed. “Maybe it’d be easier if we were sitting down, so that I could see your face.” Draco followed her, carefully looking around him to ensure his wings didn’t knock over anything else. “Well, at the raid, you were right, and we were walking into a trap. They’d been expecting us, and since we weren’t prepared for them, they had the upper hand.” At Draco’s worried look, Pansy was quick to assure him. “No major injuries, thank Merlin. It seemed like they were focusing on driving us away from the potion. But in our retreat, we realised neither you nor Lucy were with us. Ron and I were able to sneak back into the warehouse using Harry’s invisibility cloak. And we found Lucy protecting you from one of them.” She shuddered. 

“You were out cold, and what was more, something was happening to you that was not normal. You were drenched in a mysterious potion and you were spasming. Once we’d got you and Lucy out, we wanted to take you straight to St Mungo’s, but then these wings sprouted from your back. Ron still insisted we go to St Mungo’s, but I wasn’t so sure that would be the best place. We still didn’t know what the fuck was going on, and at St Mungo’s, you could’ve got a mediwizard who was shitty or prejudiced. So I suggested taking you here, and Ron quickly agreed that it’d be for the best.”

Draco had a pretty good idea where _here_ was, but he wanted Pansy to confirm. “And where is here, exactly?” 

“She brought you to mine,” Potter said brightly, standing in the doorway. “Welcome to my humble abode. Why don’t you both come down for a spot of tea and we can discuss more?” Draco hadn’t realised he was famished, and suddenly, tea sounded like the most important thing in the world, even if it was in Potter’s company.

* * *

Tea was delicious, but once Draco’s hunger was satisfied, there was nothing to stop him from thinking about his current predicament. 

“So you took me to Potter’s?” Draco confirmed with Pansy, who was sipping out of a dainty porcelain cup that Draco was sure Potter had not picked out on his own. 

Pansy nodded and sat the cup in its saucer. “Yes, and I’m so thankful we did. Harry was able to help you in a way St Mungo’s could not have.” 

Potter snorted. When they both looked over at him, he quickly apologised. “Sorry, I think I got some tea up my nose. What I think Pansy was trying to say is that after they brought you here, I knew immediately what had happened.” He shrugged. “Since I am a creature expert and all.” 

Draco gestured for him to continue. He wasn’t here to play a guessing game. This was his life, goddamnit. 

“You were forced through the Veela transformation.” At Draco’s confused look, Potter continued. “You must’ve been exposed to some of the potion that was given to the other victims and forced to transform.” 

“But they were all werewolves, and more importantly, they were all werewolves _before_ they’d been exposed to the potion.” Draco looked to Pansy desperately. “I’m not a Veela. I never was a Veela. And I didn’t think wizards could even be Veela.” Pansy only thrust her chin in Potter’s direction, and so Draco reluctantly turned his gaze back to him.

“I’m not sure how the potion interacted with your body, but I do know that you had to have some kind of Veela heritage for it to have forced the transformation. It couldn’t have acted on nothing—the potion wasn’t that advanced.” Potter shook his head slightly, and Draco was momentarily distracted by the way the afternoon sun fell across his face, casting his features in a soft glow, the infamous white of his lightning scar zigzagging across the top left of his face. 

“No one in my family was a Veela, though,” Draco protested, once he’d processed what Potter had said. “And I’ve only heard of witches who were Veela, never wizards.” 

“You must have some creature blood,” Potter insisted. “I don’t know if Lucius Malfoy, self-appointed leader of the pure-blood club, would’ve been too keen to tell people about any lapse in the purity of the Malfoy line. And—”

“He might not have told the general public, no, but he would’ve told me,” Draco interrupted before Potter could continue. At a disbelieving look from Pansy, he amended, “Well, I’d like to think he would’ve.” 

“Well, he obviously didn’t,” Potter responded harshly. “And do you want me to answer your questions or do you just want to keep interrupting me?” 

Draco really wanted to be an arse and make a snide comment, but the desire to know more about his Veela transformation barely won out. He mimed zipping his lips shut and throwing away the key. 

Potter glared at him. “As I was saying, it’s not widely known, but the Veela gene is not limited to only witches. In fact, it’s not too concerned with biological sex at all.” Potter paused, presumably to give Draco a chance to say something, but Draco stubbornly refused to ask anything. 

“Since Draco’s behaving like a child, I’ll ask the questions that I know he’s dying to. Do you know how much of the Veela transformation has affected him? We can obviously see he has wings, but what about the other stuff?”

“Well, he hasn’t fully transformed, as he doesn’t have a beak nor are his eyes black. But it’s hard to say if these parts of the transformation will happen later, or if they happened earlier and then he changed back.” He took a bite of a sandwich. “I do think it’d be best for Malfoy to stay here for a few days so I can monitor his condition.” 

Draco was already shaking his head before Potter had finished his sentence. “No way. Absolutely not. I will go home, to my flat, and Pansy can watch for any changes and then call you immediately if anything does happen. Which it won’t,” he added, as much for Potter’s benefit as his own. He could not spend an indefinite amount of time in Potter’s house, for Merlin’s sake. Who knew what could happen, and worse, what the consequences would be? 

“I don’t think that’s what’s best for you, Malfoy,” Potter insisted. “I was able to stabilise your transformation, and I’ll be able to do it again if necessary.” 

“I don’t care what you think.” Draco wasn’t purposefully being rude, but he could not stay with Potter. 

“If this is about your anxiety…” Potter began. 

“It’s not, but thank you very much for bringing it up.” He looked to Pansy desperately. 

“I’m sorry, love, but I can’t play nursemaid. I’ve got to cover for your arse, as well as work on solving this damn case.” She didn’t sound sorry, the cow. She was definitely gloating. She’d been telling Draco that he and Potter just needed to spend quality time together to work through whatever was between them, but Draco knew that that was not the answer. He knew that would only make things worse. 

“Well, then Lucy can watch over me.” 

“She’ll also be helping to cover your arse.”

“Why can’t we just tell Robards and be done with it?” Draco whined. 

“You know why. Ever since the war, and Greyback, people have been scared of creatures, Draco. They try to hide it, of course, but the distrust is there. I’ve heard a lot of extremely shitty comments working this case, and they certainly won’t be kind to you,” she finished, softening her tone at the end. 

“And besides, I really can’t advise you going into work when we don’t know how or if the transformation will progress.”

Fuck. It looked like Draco would not be able to free himself of this. “You better have a bed with better sheets.”


	5. Chapter 5

Draco was rudely woken up by the morning sun slanting through the open window, a spell already on his lips to turn the window panes black. He reached towards his right, where he normally put his wand when he was sleeping, but his hand hit only a hard wall.

Damn. It was the third morning he’d woken up in Potter’s flat and forgotten where he was. He closed his eyes, burying his head back under the pillow, trying to pretend he was anywhere else but there. 

It wasn’t that Potter was rude—it was actually the exact opposite. He was being too nice, always offering to help Draco with this or that, or trying to make him tea in the mornings. Draco had quickly disabused him of the notion. He wouldn’t leave his tea making to anyone except for himself or Liz. 

“And he walks around the house half naked all the time,” Draco complained to Pansy. “Does the man not own a stitch of clothing?”

Pansy, the cow, only laughed harder through the Floo flames. “Merlin’s beard, I wish I was there to witness you two circling each other like an arcane dragon-mating ritual.” 

“It’s not like that,” Draco hissed, throwing a sock at Pansy’s face. Her mouth opened wide in surprise, but it fell right through, hitting the back of the hearth. He wished it might be, but it would _never, ever_ , and being forced to spend so much time with the man was irritating because Draco wasn’t finding it any easier to move on. “So what if I find St Potter fucking fit? That doesn’t mean I need to act on it.” 

“Oh, but you could, darling. I know for a fact that he finds you fit as well.” Pansy smirked. 

“It’s not about that. You think I don’t bloody know?” Draco whinged, exasperated. That was the precise problem—Potter was attracted to Draco—but nothing more. Draco, however, was head over heels for Potter, and had been for a while. He knew how ridiculous it was, and so he did his damn best to keep his distance. 

“Maybe you should try walking around half naked,” Pansy suggested slyly. “See what comes of it.” 

“This isn’t the beginning of some fucking porno, Pans,” Draco scolded, and threw his other sock at her. “This is serious. You know that.” 

“I’m sorry, love,” Pansy said, sounding contrite. “I just want you to be happy, and I know you’re very good at denying yourself happiness.” Even though Pansy was sometimes a tart, there was no one quite like her. “It’ll all work out. I can feel it in my bones. You will find your happiness.” Her fire-flame face smiled serenely. “I’ve got to run, but I love you, and it will all be okay.” She blew him a kiss. The fireplace went dark and Draco stood up. Maybe she’d be right, after all. Stranger things had happened. 

He grabbed his towel and robe from where they hung by the fireplace. Once he’d realised he couldn’t get out of staying with Potter, he’d made Pansy go back to his flat and collect everything that he simply could not live without. When she’d complained about bringing half his wardrobe, he’d just shrugged and pointed out that she’d known him for far too long to have not expected that outcome when she got him into this mess. 

Potter normally took showers in the evenings, which Draco did not understand. There was something soothing in going through his morning ritual—cleaning his body, washing his hair, and shaving—that helped him prepare for the day. And with two additions on his back that made showering quite a challenge, he needed his routine now more than ever. 

He pulled the shower curtain back and stepped out in a cloud of steam, then walked over to the sink, where his various potions and creams had quickly taken over. He reached for the moisturising cream that he used on his Sectumsempra scars and began gently rubbing it over his chest. His scars weren’t as deep as they could’ve been, thankfully, as Severus had managed to get to the bathroom just in time. He slowly traced one scar from his left hip to his right shoulder, his gaze lingering on the black lines of ink that intersected his path. 

With no warning, the bathroom door swung open. Draco yelped and dropped the pot of cream, hastily reaching for the towel he’d put around his hair and wrapping it around his hips. “It’s occupied!”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Potter stammered, standing in the open door, the steam from the bathroom fogging up his glasses. He looked like he’d just rolled out of bed, his hair a bird’s nest that even the strongest detangling spell would have had troubles with. “I’m not used to having company.” 

Draco waited impatiently for the door to close, pointedly turning his gaze away. When it didn’t, he looked back towards Potter, who was just standing there, staring. Draco knew what Potter was so focused on, the black lines of his Muggle tattoo expertly drawn to incorporate sections of his scars. Draco had long ago made peace with the Sectumsempra scars—a few people had even told him they were sexy, but he didn’t put much stock in that. 

But that didn’t mean Draco enjoyed being ogled. He could feel a blush spreading across his cheeks. He cleared his throat loudly.

“Er, I’ll just leave you to it,” Potter mumbled, turning around and walking back towards his room. 

Draco sighed a breath of relief as the door slammed shut, then grabbed his wand from the edge of the sink and cast an Auror-level Locking Charm. Damn Potter.

* * *

After the spectacle of the morning, Draco hoped Potter would make himself scarce for having the gall to walk in on him in the bathroom. He’d gone back to his room and got dressed, in one of his least favourite shirts and trousers. He’d had to spell holes in the back of his clothes, and since he wasn’t confident in his tailoring charms, he’d only modified the clothes he could bear to part with. 

Once dressed, he’d gone downstairs for a spot of tea and toast. Potter’s house was quite narrow, with the kitchens and garden on the ground floor, the study and living room on the first, the spare bedroom and bathroom on the third, and Potter’s room on the fourth. At first, Draco had found the space a bit cramped, but he’d slowly adjusted and now thought it was cosy.

After breakfast, Draco began doing what he loved almost more than anything: research. Potter hadn’t been lying when he’d told them his area of expertise was creature transformations. He had a Hermione-level number of books on the subject, from Animagi to vampires to werewolves and even some that Draco hadn’t heard of. But there were surprisingly few on Veela, and so Draco had reached out to the one person who may have had even more access to books: Hermione. 

He was expecting her later that afternoon, and since it was such a beautiful spring day, he decided to do some reading in Potter’s back garden. After he’d been out there for about half an hour, he was visited by his favourite feature of Potter’s house: a small, black, Muggle cat, with gleaming emerald eyes. Draco had decided to call him Noir. 

Most people were surprised Draco got along so well with animals, and he couldn’t blame them because he really had been a twat back at Hogwarts. The truth was, except for his father’s peacocks, he hadn’t been allowed to have any kind of pet, even though he so desperately wanted a Crup. His mum said it wasn’t proper for a Malfoy to have such a common pet, and so Draco had told everyone that he thought animals were disgusting. In reality, he wanted nothing more than to own a pet. The only reason he didn’t have one now was he wasn’t sure he could provide it with adequate care. 

Noir seemed to always come around when Draco sat outside. Draco wasn’t quite sure where he came from, as the stone wall was tall around Potter’s garden, but he knew cats had their mysterious ways. 

At first, he’d been hesitant to approach, but Draco had gone back inside and fetched a saucer of milk from Potter’s Muggle fridge and brought it out for Noir. Noir hadn’t cared so much for the milk, but the gesture seemed to have warmed him to Draco. He’d immediately started meowing and weaving between Draco’s legs, demanding Draco pet him.

Draco had pretended to think about it for a moment, and Noir had become more insistent, butting his fluffy head against Draco’s calf repeatedly. Draco had capitulated, picking up the little scrap and cuddling him to his chest. 

When Potter’s Muggle doorbell rang, signalling Hermione had arrived, he reluctantly put Noir down and went to open the door. 

“Hi, Hermione.” He smiled, genuinely pleased to see her. It’d taken a few years, but ever since Pansy and Weasley had become Auror partners, Draco and Hermione had seen a lot more of each other. Draco had apologised way back, before the trials even, but Hermione hadn’t truly accepted that Draco had changed until the Amsterdam incident. After that, she’d treated him cordially, and eventually, in part due to their love of a good research project, they’d become friends. 

“Hullo, Draco. How’re you?”

“I was just in the back garden, which was quite lovely. Would you care to join me?” 

“Sure. That sounds great.” They walked through Potter’s home and out into the garden. Draco was surprised to see Noir was still there, as he didn’t seem to be fond of strangers. 

“Harry’s not around this afternoon, so it’ll just be us.”

“Did he say where he would be?” Hermione asked, looking intently at Noir as if he had all the answers. 

“No, I haven’t seen him since this morning.” Draco blushed as his mind flicked back to that incident.

Hermione nodded knowingly. “Well, I’m sure he’ll turn up.”

“Were you able to find any books?” Draco asked. Hermione glanced around and then nodded. 

“I was, but I’d feel better if we could do this inside.” Draco knew she was right, but he didn’t want to say goodbye to his furry friend just yet. When Hermione sensed his hesitance, she added, “You can bring the cat inside. I don’t think Harry will mind.” 

Draco shrugged. Hermione knew Potter better than he did, so he picked up Noir and followed her inside. She led them up the stairs to Potter’s study and laid out the books she’d brought from the Ministry. “These were never here.” She looked at Draco until he nodded in agreement. 

“Did you find anything interesting?” 

“I only had a chance to skim them, but I think there’s some more information about the _other_ parts of the Veela transformation.” At Draco’s blank look, she said, “Mostly about the Veela allure.” 

“Oh, I didn’t realise that was even a possibility.” 

“Of course it’s a possibility,” Hermione declared. “Have you noticed any changes?”

“What kind of changes?” Draco scoffed. “People falling over themselves to be with me?” He gestured around Potter’s empty office. Noir meowed, and Draco resumed petting his head. “No, Hermione, there’s been nothing of the sort.” 

“Well, it’s just something to keep an eye on.” She opened one of the books to a dog-eared page and brought it over to Draco. “See, here, it talks about how the Veela allure works for those that are born full Veela.”

In addition to the Veela allure, Draco thought he remembered something about Veela having mates. Did that mean he had a mate now? If he did, who could it be? 

Draco bent his head over the book, trying to see what Hermione was pointing to, but a sharp pain in his back made him flinch. He reached one of his arms behind him and felt for one of the spots where his wings protruded from his back. It was extremely tender to his touch, and as he stood there, focusing on where his wing connected, it started protracting inwards. But it didn’t stop where Draco had become accustomed to it stopping, instead continuing to shrink until he could no longer feel it. When he ran his hand over his back, he couldn’t feel where the other one had been either.

Hermione was watching the whole ordeal with a look of wonder on her face. Noir, whom Draco had set on the floor when he’d felt the initial spark of pain, was also watching his transformation with rapt attention. 

“Wow, that was incredible.” Hermione breathed in wonderment. “I’ve never seen the Veela transformation before.” 

“Well, I hope it’s the last time I have to experience it,” Draco admitted honestly, knowing he was being naive. “But I wonder, why now?” He looked around Potter’s study. Nothing seemed different. “What triggered the change?” 

Hermione was quiet, bending down to pick up Noir, who seemed quite taken with her, allowing her to cradle him like a baby. “I’m not sure.” She shook her head. “And even though I’ve grown since Hogwarts, I still hate admitting that I don’t know something.” She stroked Noir’s head. “But we’ll figure it out, Draco.”


	6. Chapter 6

Saturday morning breakfasts were apparently a big event in the Potter household. Draco had been invited, rather forcefully, to join Potter and Hermione and Weasley for a proper fry-up. He didn’t necessarily want to say no, but he wasn’t quite ready for the intimacy of sitting at Potter’s elaborately set breakfast table, preparing to eat a meal Potter had cooked in an appallingly kitsch (albeit adorable) apron. 

“Everything looks delicious as always, mate,” Weasley complimented. “I’m excited to try these crepes.”

“Thanks.” Potter blushed slightly. “They were a French recipe that I found online.”

“On the Muggle intynet?”

“The internet,” Hermione responded huffily, in a tone that spoke of having had this conversation countless times before. “You’re just as bad as your father, and your girlfriend was raised as a Muggle, for god’s sake.”

“Please, no conflicts before we’ve eaten.” Potter gave both Hermione and Weasley stern looks, and Draco had to bite his lip to keep from smiling. It was just a bit ridiculous—the Saviour of the Wizarding World having to keep his best friends, and also heroes in their own right, from fighting before ten in the morning. “Let’s dig in.” 

At that, Potter, Hermione, and Weasley all reached for the platter in front of them and began serving themselves. Draco, who wasn’t accustomed to having homemade meals with friends, or family, watched for a moment. When someone nudged his arm, he looked at Potter, who was tilting his head towards the rashers in front of Draco. Draco reached for the platter, and with an encouraging smile from Potter, began to scoop some onto his plate. 

Once they’d all served themselves, talk naturally turned to Draco’s recent transformation and the creature case. 

“It’s quite interesting there was nothing external that prompted the change,” Potter mused. “Usually, in situations where the person can’t control the human-to-creature transformation, there’s some kind of outside stimulus that forces them to change.” 

“Wait, how did _you_ know there wasn’t an event that prompted the change?” Potter hadn’t been in the room where it had happened and Draco hadn’t had a chance to talk with him about it before breakfast. 

“Erm. Um,” Potter stammered. He looked to Hermione desperately, which Draco thought was strange. 

“I talked about it with him,” Hermione explained, returning Harry’s desperate look with a hard look of her own. 

“Okay,” Draco said slowly, dragging out the syllables, choosing to ignore whatever the fuck was going on between them. “Well, yes, you are correct—there was nothing that happened…” But now that Draco was thinking about it, he had been wondering about the possibility of having a mate, but he certainly wasn’t going to announce that at the breakfast table. 

“Oi, maybe you can talk to Fleur and see if she could help.” Weasley then took a large bite of food to punctuate his sentence, and Draco simply did not know what Hermione saw in the man. Well, that probably wasn’t being fair to either one of them, but Draco was not in a charitable mood. 

“Thank you,” is what he said, though, because he wasn’t a boor. It would be nice to talk to someone who knew what it was like.

* * *

“Potter, you don’t understand. I have to go back to work. I can’t keep sitting on my arse all day. I’m bored out of my mind.” Draco knew he sounded like a whinging child, but he couldn’t help it. He needed space from Potter, who was _always_ around, lounging on chairs with his five o'clock shadow, drinking endless amounts of coffee. Draco knew it was his home, but still. 

“Malfoy, you know that’s not a good idea,” Potter repeated, this argument a worn thing between them. “You’ve transformed back, yes, but we don’t know when—”

“Or if,” Draco interrupted. 

“Or if it’ll happen again,” Potter reluctantly added. “But I don’t think you should risk it.” 

“Well, you’re not the boss of me,” Draco said petulantly. 

“No, I’m not, but as someone who cares about your well-being, I really hope that you’ll take my advice into consideration.” Potter gave Draco his most imploring look, and Draco would be lying if he said it didn’t affect him. But he had to go back to work, not only because he was bored, but also because he wanted to catch the bastard who did this to him. 

“I have, and I’ll be careful. I promise.” 

“Do you plan to keep hiding your transformation from the Ministry?” 

“I have to. I can’t be Draco Malfoy _and_ a Veela.” 

Potter shook his head slightly, a look of deep sadness in his expression. “But you are, Malfoy. And I think the sooner you accept that, the easier this transformation will be on you.” 

“Are you saying that as someone who cares about me or as a creature expert?”

“Can’t it be both?” 

“Well, to someone who cares about me, I’d say thank you for your concern, but this is something I have to do. And as a creature expert, you should know how hard it can be for people to adjust to a radically shifted worldview.” Draco knew that he would have to work towards some semblance of balance with his Veela nature, but he also wasn’t going to let it dictate his life. 

“Well, I still want to be able to monitor your condition,” Harry insisted. “Forced creature transformations are one of the most unstable forms of magic.” He huffed a laugh, breaking the tension between them. “And I think I would know.” 

“Oh, do tell.” Draco was intrigued, despite himself. He’d assumed Potter had to have some kind of intense personal experience with creature transformations to have decided to become an expert in the field, but he’d never really had the chance to ask. 

But it didn’t seem like Draco would be getting the answers he wanted from Potter today. “That’s a story for another time.” 

“I will certainly hold you to that,” Draco promised.

* * *

At nine o’clock on Monday morning, Draco was at the Ministry. He’d not made an appointment with Robards, which he knew was not proper protocol, but he found that he couldn’t be bothered to care. He stormed into the DMLE, ignoring Pansy when she reached out to try and stop him on his way to Robards’ office. 

“Hull—” Blake started to say.

“Robards, now,” Draco interrupted. “Please,” he added beseechingly. Blake nodded Draco straight through, which was highly unusual, but then again, this was not a normal situation. 

“Malfoy,” Robards greeted, his smile a bit too forced. “It’s good to see you back on your feet.” 

“Yes, I’m feeling quite a bit better, thank you.” 

“Good, that’s good.” 

Draco waited for Robards to continue, and when he didn’t, he prompted, “So, if it’s all the same to you, I’d really like to return to my job. I’m not sick anymore, and I’m ready to get back to work.” 

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible, son,” Robards said, with a slight shake of his head. When Draco started to protest, Robards held up his hand, and Draco stopped with a small sigh. “You got too close. We’re worried that you might become a target.” 

“That’s preposterous,” Draco protested. “Shaw was right beside me, as were both Parkinson and Weasley. If they’re still on the case, then I should be too,” Draco couldn’t help but plead. His job, while not all he had, was a big fucking part of who he was and he couldn’t lose it. Not when he’d just been put on his first real case after more than six years of working his arse off. Not when it felt like things were finally starting to go his way for once in his life. 

“Malfoy, I’m sorry, but we simply can’t be liable for what could happen, all things considered.” Robards gave Draco a pitying look. 

“What do you mean by that?” Draco asked, certainly having an inkling—but if it was what he thought it was, then he would make Robards say the damn words himself.

“You have to understand what it would look like from their perspective.” 

“Who are they?”

Robards gestured broadly to the DMLE and the world outside his office. “Everyone. The other Aurors, the Ministry, the general public.” He paused, giving Draco another searching look. “Malfoy, I know what really happened to you at the raid. Parkinson, Weasley, and Shaw weren’t the only Aurors there. We can’t have someone as…” he trailed off, searching for the right word, “unpredictable as you are. I think it’d be best if you took some time off. Paid, of course.” 

“If you’re referring to what I think you are, you have to know how badly that will reflect on the Ministry.” Draco didn’t usually like to bring up the war, because that usually led to feelings of guilt and inadequacy, but he felt the need to point out that Potter’s side had won. The side that was supposed to eliminate discrimination based on factors outside of a person’s control, like Blood Status or creature heritage. “I’m not usually one to point out the obvious, but I think it’s pertinent here. Harry Potter won the war. _Your_ side,” Draco emphasised, “won. And you were fighting for equality for all.” 

“Well, yes,” Robards hedged. “But that was about Blood Status. This is a different matter entirely. Creatures aren’t quite the same as us, are they? They require a unique approach that encompasses their differences.” 

Even though the language was prettier, the tone more polite, Draco had heard this kind of rhetoric before. “You do know who you sound like, don’t you?” Draco could almost hear the slithering of Nagini, who was always by the Dark Lord’s side. 

Robards, who had been relatively cool and collected, became irate. “That is completely unfounded.” He pointed his finger at Draco. “That you would come in here and accuse me of being like him. I will simply not have it,” he bellowed, emphasising each word with a slash of his finger through the air. “You are my subordinate. You are on paid administrative leave and that is final. Now get out of my office.”


	7. Chapter 7

_**Interlude** _

_You are a creature of the night, like the others, but you are not controlled by the moon. Instead, you are driven by your thirst for blood. You can blend in, oftentimes better than the others, but the humans still sense a certain_ wrongness _about you._

_You are coming home from a night of revelry, but something feels off. You can’t quite decide what it is, until it’s too late. You abruptly change course and head towards the river, where you find a woman, passed out on her back._

_Some inextricable force draws you towards her, and her blood sings out to you. You are not thirsty, but you want to drink. You bend down to her neck, your fangs already extended, and bite, the coppery taste filling your mouth. You drink, and you don’t stop, even though you’re not hungry._

* * *

“So then, he tells me it ‘would be best for all’ if I take paid administrative leave,” Draco said, putting air quotes around the parts he found the most ridiculous. “As if it’s not a load of hogwash meant to save the Ministry’s arse, with a bit of creature discrimination thrown into the mix.” Draco grabbed whichever drink was closest to him and took a swig. He made a face as the bitter notes of a Negroni hit his tongue. 

“He really said that?” Hermione asked from his left. “That’s blatant grounds for an anti-discrimination lawsuit. He can’t put you on administrative leave for that.” 

“He really did, ‘Mione.” Draco reached for another drink, which was thankfully his Sex on the Beach. There was only about a quarter of it left, so he downed it in one go. “Fuck Robards.” 

“I think it’s time for someone to leave off the alcohol,” Pansy said from across the booth. She raised her wand and levitated all the glasses out of Draco’s reach. He pouted. “It’s for the best.” He pouted some more, giving her his best pleading look. 

“Please, Pans. You know how rough my day has been.” He imbued his words with as much persuasion as his drunk mind could muster, which was apparently a lot, because all of the glasses started moving towards him. And it wasn’t just the glasses at their table—the glasses from all the tables in the pub were migrating over. “Wait, stop,” Draco commanded. “I don’t want to drink from all these random glasses.” When they didn’t stop moving, Draco waved a hand concernedly in front of Pansy’s face. Her eyes widened and then narrowed, as if she was having a difficult time focusing. He snapped his fingers, and her gaze cleared. 

“What’s happened?” Pansy asked, looking around at all the glasses floating by their table. 

“You seem to have levitated all the glassware in this place,” Draco said dryly. With another whispered spell, the glasses were sent back to where they’d come from, the ones in front of Pansy falling with a loud _clunk._ Draco reached once more for the pint closest to him, but Pansy put her arm in front of it. 

“I’m serious, darling. I’m cutting you off.” 

Draco gave her another pleading look, putting all the effort he could muster into it. “Please.” She removed her arm, and Draco gratefully snatched the pint before she could stop him again. The beer was warm and foamy, but it was alcohol, so he drank it. He set the pint down and wiped the foam from his mouth. 

Pansy looked down at the table again, seeming to notice that the pint had moved closer to Draco. She looked back at Draco in confusion. “I thought I was stopping you from drinking more.” 

“You were trying to, yes, but I managed to convince you otherwise.” 

She shook her head. “No, it was something more than that.” She looked to Hermione, and then her gaze fell back on Draco. “It was like I was compelled to do what you want.” 

Through the pleasant haze of alcohol, Draco felt a shiver go through him. But the thought was soon carried away like leaves floating away from trees, and Draco couldn’t remember why he’d even been worried. “I’m sure it was nothing,” he told her with a wave of his hand. He’d never been better, or felt more free, and he didn’t need Pansy bringing him down.

She didn’t look convinced, but let the subject drop. 

And that would’ve been the end of it, but it happened again not two days later. 

They were at a different pub this time, but Draco was still drinking more than he probably should’ve been. But what did it matter? He no longer had a job to do. 

“Did you always want to be an Auror?” Draco asked Lucy, who was sipping a cosmopolitan and wearing a bold red ensemble that only she, and maybe Luna Lovegood, could pull off. 

She considered that for a moment. “No”—she shook her head—“but my parents did. They thought it was the only career worth my time.” She laughed softly. “Do you want to know what I _really_ wanted to be when I was younger?” 

Draco nodded. 

“A beekeeper. I wanted to live on a bee farm and wear one of those beekeeping suits. Can you believe it?” 

Draco, who knew what it was like to want one thing but to pursue another entirely, shook his head in commiseration. “Why a beekeeper though? I wanted to be a librarian, but that’s because I loved books so much.” 

“I found bees so fascinating. And honeybees, as one of the world's most important pollinators of food crops, are integral to our survival.”

“You learn something new every day,” Potter crowed, who had showed up sometime during the evening and was a warm presence on Draco’s left. Draco was doing his best to ignore him by drinking more alcohol. “Are there any bee farms near London?” 

“Yeah, there’s one not far. Would you both want to go visit sometime?” 

“Yes,” Harry responded enthusiastically, looking to Draco for his response. 

Draco waited a beat, but when they both continued to look at him, he capitulated. “Of course that would be wonderful.” 

“I’ll set something up.” Lucy beamed. Draco did his best to smile, but he worried it might’ve looked more like a grimace. 

“What’s the latest with the creature case?” Draco asked, turning to Lucy first because she was more likely to answer. 

“I’m sorry, Draco. You know I want nothing more than to tell you.” She wrung her hands in distress. “It’s just, I’m not supposed to share that information with anyone not actively working the case. Even if you are my partner.” 

“You can trust me, you know,” Draco coaxed, a bright, electrifying sensation running through his veins. 

“It seems like the criminal is becoming bolder, branching from just werewolves to vampires,” Lucy said, the words drawn out of her like a Muggle magician pulling roses out of a hat. When she realised what she’d said, she put her hand over her mouth. She looked at Potter. “I’m so sorry—I don’t know what happened.” 

Potter, who had been unusually quiet, said grimly, “It’s alright. I do.”

Lucy’s shoulders sagged in relief. “I think I’m going to go before I reveal anything else. Night Draco, Potter.” Draco gave her a two-fingered salute. She really was his favourite partner. 

“You do understand what’s happening, don’t you?” Potter asked, turning the full force of his gaze on Draco. Draco, who wasn’t listening in the slightest, reached one hand up and stroked Potter’s famous scar, running his fingers along the forks of the lightning bolt that spread from Potter’s left temple across part of his left eye. Draco watched in fascination as Potter’s eyelids closed, which he took as tacit permission to keep exploring his face. 

“Pretty,” he whispered. “Why do you have to be so damn pretty, Potter?” he asked petulantly, tracing his fingers along Potter’s plush lower lip.

Potter shook his head lightly and Draco’s fingers dropped to the table. “I’m trying to be serious, Malfoy.” But a blush rising to his cheeks distracted Draco. 

“I am being serious, Potter,” Draco insisted. “The whole world should know about your prettiness.” 

“You’re going to hate yourself tomorrow.”

“Why would I hate myself?” Draco asked. “I’m only speaking the truth.”

Potter’s blush deepened and spread from his cheeks to his throat. Draco was just about to lean over and try to peek down Potter’s ratty Muggle t-shirt to see how far it spread, but was stopped when Potter stood up abruptly. “I think it’s time to get you home.” 

“You’re taking me home?” Draco asked eagerly. He knew there was a reason this wasn’t a good idea, but he couldn’t remember why for the life of him. So he ignored it. 

“Your home, I mean,” Potter clarified. “Come on.” He wrapped an arm around Draco’s shoulder and helped Draco stand, which was quite a challenge considering Draco’s legs seemed to be unable to support his weight. 

When he’d managed to stand, in large part due to Potter, he whispered, “You’re so strong.” 

“Oh, Merlin.” Draco could feel Potter sigh exasperatedly, but did nothing except lean more of his weight on Potter. They slowly made their way out of the pub and out onto the pavement. “Can you hold onto me while I Side-Along you?” Draco nodded his head against Potter’s shoulder. 

“But my wards won’t let you Apparate in.” 

“I can Apparate us near your flat and then we can go in the Muggle way. Does that work?” 

Draco nodded his agreement. It wasn’t quite as good as going to Potter’s house, but it would have to do. 

“Where do you live?” 

Draco tried to think of the precise location, but his mind kept coming up blank, filled instead with piercing emerald eyes and lightning scars.

“Fine. I’ll just take you to mine.” 

_Yes,_ Draco thought. _Just what he’d wanted all along._


	8. Chapter 8

Draco woke with a groan, a curse about the streaming sunlight filtering in through the window already on his lips. He turned onto his back and threw an arm over his eyes, reaching for his wand on his bedside table. When his hand hit empty air, he removed his arm and opened his eyes wide. 

And instantly regretted everything in his life that had led him to this moment. The sun hit his eyes like a Bludger to the face and when he blinked to try to adjust to the bright light, the pounding in his head started up again at max tempo. 

He squeezed his eyes shut again, praying for the sweet release of death. 

“I see you’ve woken up,” Potter said from somewhere to Draco’s right. 

“And I wish I hadn’t,” Draco replied caustically. “Why don’t you have bloody curtains on your windows?”

“Because I like to torture my houseguests.” 

Draco reached for a pillow with his left hand and lobbed it towards Potter’s voice. When Potter laughed, Draco knew it’d fallen short. “Fuck off.” 

“I think I have something that you very much want,” Potter teased, and Draco could hear his footsteps approach the bed. 

He opened one eye warily. “Unless it’s a nice bout of Dreamless Sleep, then I don’t want it.” 

“It’s better.” Potter held out a small vial of clear liquid, and Draco snatched it up eagerly. “It’s a hangover cure.” 

Draco opened the vial and tossed the liquid back, closing his eyes as the potion worked its way through his system. He sighed as the pounding in his head faded and when he opened his eyes once more, the sunlight was only a mild inconvenience, not a death ray of doom. 

“Feeling better?” Potter asked, a smirk on his lips. 

Draco felt the urge to kiss that smirk away, but didn’t act on the impulse. “Much. Thanks.” 

“Do you remember what happened last night?” 

Draco had vague recollections of meeting Lucy and feeling warm and safe, but not much more than that. He shook his head. “Did I make an arse of myself?” 

Potter looked at Draco intensely. “No,” he finally answered quietly. “You were clingy though, like an octopus.” 

Draco didn’t know what to say to that, so he pushed the blankets off, thankfully finding himself fully dressed in yesterday’s clothes. “Well, thank you for your generous hospitality, but I really should be going.” 

“There’s actually someone downstairs that I think you’ll want to see.” Potter closed the door as he left, and Draco quickly jumped out of bed, straightening his clothes and hair with a quick charm and heading down the stairs. 

Lucy greeted him in a billowy white blouse tucked into a pair of high-waisted mustard cords with a paper cup from Flour Power, and Draco could have kissed her if it wouldn’t have been considered workplace harassment. He gratefully reached for the cup and took a long drink, the foam and the lavender blending perfectly. “Thank you, Lucy.” 

“Of course.” She smiled. “Potter invited me over this morning.” 

Draco looked over to where Potter was sitting on the soft, blue sofa. “I thought it’d be good if we did fill you in on the case.” 

“Really? But what about Ministry protocols?” Draco asked. 

“I don’t work for the Ministry.” Potter shrugged. Draco looked to Lucy, who also shrugged. 

“He’s Harry Potter, and he makes a compelling argument. Also, they can all go fuck themseves for the way that they’ve been treating you, and the way that they talk about creatures in general. It’s not fair.” 

Draco didn’t dare ask too many more questions, for fear they’d suddenly decide not to include him. 

“As Lucy mentioned last night, another victim turned up, this one having been attacked by a vampire.” 

“And we actually managed to get our hands on some of the potion,” Lucy added excitedly. “Since the metabolism of vampires and werewolves is very different, magi-forensics was actually able to salvage some of the potion.” She opened her purse and carefully retrieved a small vial. “Here.” 

Draco gently reached for the vial, tilting it back and forth as he contemplated the liquid. “And you need my help?” he asked, knowing the answer, but wanting to make Potter say so anyway.

“Yes, O Wondrous Potions master, will you help us lowly peasants?” Potter simpered, and it should’ve been unbecoming, but Draco just found it endearing. 

Draco wanted to draw his response out, but he was too damn eager. “Yes. I’ll start analysing it right away. Thank you so much for bringing me this, Lucy. I hope this doesn’t get you into too much trouble.” 

She waved off his concern. “I’m sure it’ll be fine. I’ve got Parkinson and Weasley looking after me.” 

“Oi, before you run off, do you have the necessary equipment at yours?” Potter asked, and Draco stopped mid-stride. In his haste to do something useful, he hadn’t even considered the matter of equipment. He was so used to having full access to the DMLE’s state-of-the art potions room that he’d never invested in his own set. 

“Am I to assume that you do?” Draco asked archly, remembering Potter’s lack of artistry in the subject at Hogwarts. 

“Hey, I resent what you’re implying, Malfoy,” Potter protested. “I got top marks in sixth year.” 

“That’s only because you cheated.” Draco had heard all about the Prince’s spellbook from Weasley and Pansy, and from Severus himself when he’d had to heal Draco from the Sectumsempra. 

“Fine. See if I let you use my potions equipment.” Potter pouted, but there was a spark in his eyes. 

“Not even if I beg?” Draco asked, pushing out his bottom lip and blinking his eyelashes rapidly, giving Potter his best pleading look. Potter looked like he’d taken a Stunner to the face, and Draco was secretly pleased. It looked like he’d won this round.

* * *

Potter’s work room was cosy and surprisingly well-stocked. It was on the ground floor, across from the kitchen. Draco hated how easily it’d been to get used to everything. He’d been coming to work for the past few days and they’d fallen into a steady routine.

Draco was currently working on determining the component parts of the potion, but since he had so little of it to work with, he had to be very careful. He’d split the potion into two vials, one of which was on a shelf under strong protection charms, and the other he’d poured into a small copper cauldron with a bit of distilled water.

He was gently heating the potion when there was a soft knock at the door. 

“Come in,” he called, knowing it wasn’t Potter because Potter never knocked. 

“Hi, I brought you a present,” Hermione announced, her sharp gaze taking in the state of the room. “I think it’ll really help you do your research.”

“Thank you.” Draco accepted the gift, which was an identical vial filled with the same potion. “How did you get more of this? Was there another victim?” Potter hadn’t mentioned anything when Draco had shown up that morning, but something could have happened between then and now. 

Hermione nodded her head grimly. “There was. I’ve just come from the Ministry and it’s chaos. Somehow, Rita Skeeter got the scoop and now the whole damn world knows about the creature angle.” 

“Fuck.” That couldn’t be good. It only made their jobs harder to have a wild, slavering public on their trail. And it couldn’t be good to have this particular case at the forefront of everyone’s minds, especially not now, when the ten year anniversary for the Battle of Hogwarts was fast approaching. 

“And she’s riling them up—talking about how the Ministry isn’t doing enough to prevent the public from creature attacks.” That was Draco’s biggest concern, that this would only serve to deepen tensions between the wizarding and creature communities, which hadn’t been stellar to begin with. 

“Is Potter going to make a statement?” Draco knew that many still looked up to Harry Potter, boy wizard extraordinaire. 

“Yes.” Hermione sighed. “He hates it, but there’s nothing that can be done. He’s at the Ministry right now, and he and Robards are going to give a joint statement. If we turn on the wireless, I’m sure we’ll be able to hear it.”

Draco flicked his wand at the small wireless in the corner, and Robards’ grim voice filled the room. 

“—lease, please, if you could all quiet down.” Draco could hear the shutters click as the press took their photos, but the voices faded out. “Thank you. As you may have read in this morning’s special edition, the DMLE is working on a case that does involve creatures.” 

“Head Auror—”

“Sir, if you could please tell us—”

“There will be no questions at this time.” Draco could picture the precise look of controlled anger that was on Robards’ face, and he was honestly impressed so many of the press community would continue to go against his express wishes. He’d lived with the Dark Lord, and there was a time he still would’ve hesitated. “I will now turn it over to Harry Potter, Magical Creatures Expert, and First Class Order of Merlin recipient, to make a few remarks.” 

“Mr Potter—”

“Harry, can you tell us what—”

“Erm. Hello,” Potter greeted, and Draco had to keep the smile off his face as he pictured the exact charming yet awkward grin that Potter was giving the audience. It wouldn’t do to show too much of his hand, although Hermione was giving him a searching look. “Thank you for being here today. I want to reassure the public that the Ministry is taking the necessary measures to protect the wizarding community. There is no need for panic or hysteria. We have the situation completely under control. I would also like to remind you that those with creature heritage are not so different from you or I, and they must also be protected.”

“He writes his own speeches, too, now,” Hermione whispered. “I used to help him, but one day, he told me he’d rather do it on his own, that it was easier to be more authentic if it was his words that he was saying.” 

“I don’t know why he’d ever be worried about authenticity. The Boy Wonder is practically oozing it out of every pore.” 

“Ew.” Hermione scrunched her nose. “Please do not say the word Harry and ooze in the same sentence.” 

“I can’t help it if it’s true. The man is practically earnestness personified.” Hermione only shook her head slightly, but she couldn’t argue because Draco was right. 

Harry had finished up his speech, and the station soon started playing a recap of the latest Quidditch match between the Falcons and the Wasps. Draco flicked it off with a wave of his wand.

“You’re never one to mince words, Draco.” Hermione patted him on the shoulder. “Once I stopped hating you, it’s one of the first things that made me like you.” 

“In addition to my good looks, I’m sure.” 

“Don’t you have a potion you should be working on?” 

“Fine, fine, I won’t tell Weasley you find me dashing.” Hermione pushed him playfully and left him to his work.


	9. Chapter 9

“Hullo, Draco,” Liz greeted with a grin. Draco smiled in return. He’d had a busy morning of potions work, with an added dose of Potter, and he needed a break from it all. So he’d decided to slip away to his favourite respite. “I was getting a bit worried because we hadn’t seen you in a while.” 

Draco felt chastised. He’d have to make more of an effort to come into Flour Power, or at least let Liz know he was fine. “I’m sorry. They’ve taken me off a really important project at work, so I haven’t been coming into the office as regularly.” 

She started to pull the ingredients out for his London Fog. “Well, you still need your tea, don’t you?” Liz poured some milk into a pitcher and began to steam it. “Lucy has become a regular. She’s much nicer than you, and she dresses way better, now that I think about it.” 

“Hey, you don’t want to go offending your favourite customer, now do you?” Draco teased, batting his eyelashes dramatically.

“Well, now, you haven’t been coming in as much so I don’t know if you still hold that title.” 

“My heart.” Draco held his arms up in protest. “You wound me.” She slid his London Fog over the counter and when Draco looked down to put on the lid, he saw that she’d made a heart. “See, I knew you couldn’t hold a grudge for long.” Draco slid over a twenty and waved off her protests when she tried to give him his change. “I’ve got to get you to keep liking me somehow.” 

His usual table was occupied, so he went to sit at a table near the till so he could chat with Liz when she had a break between customers. It was a pleasant way to pass a few hours, and just when he was getting ready to leave, the door opened to a familiar face. “Pans,” he greeted, an involuntary smile spreading across his face. 

“Hey, stranger.” She walked up to the counter. “Hi Liz. Can I get a hibiscus tea with honey?” 

“Of course. It’s nice to see that Draco has friends.” Liz shook her head fondly. “You know, this boy used to come in looking so sad and alone. It always broke my heart. But now, he seems much happier, and he’s been bringing people by.”

“He’s got a good group that supports him. But, it’s heartening to hear there are others who care about him as much as we do.” Pansy handed Liz a note and waved her off when she tried to give her change. 

“I’m right here,” Draco protested. “You don’t have to talk about me like I’m not.” Pansy walked over and slapped a hand on his shoulder. 

“We only do it because we love you.” She took a drink of her tea. Draco pouted, but he wasn’t truly upset. He knew what it was like to be utterly alone, and he would never again take the friendships in his life for granted. 

“So I assume Lucy showed you this place?” Draco wasn’t upset at her—he’d had this place as his own private retreat for a long time. But it wouldn’t hurt to have others know about it, as long as it didn’t become overrun with Ministry lackeys. 

“She did.” Pansy nodded. “We’d both had a bad day at work and she mentioned this amazing cafe that had the best tea. It was actually after Robards and a few of the other Senior Aurors were complaining about having to work with creatures on this case. There was so much fucking bigotry in their words—I couldn’t even form a coherent response. But Lucy had a lot of things to say. I think she would’ve hexed them all if I hadn’t pulled her away.” Pansy smiled at the memory. “Robards and the others didn’t know who was coming for them.” 

Draco could imagine it—Lucy always seemed to speak her mind. “And you’ve met Liz.” 

“She’s lovely.” Pansy smiled warmly over at Liz, and then looked around the cafe, which was about half full. She motioned for Draco to do that version of _Muffliato_ that would make it sound like they were talking about the weather. Draco rolled his eyes but did as she asked. 

It was not widely known, but Draco was adept at doing wandless magic. After the war had ended, the Ministry had confiscated the Malfoys’ wands, which forced Draco to learn other ways of achieving the tasks that used to be second nature to him. He’d not even been able to do a simple _Lumos_ without a huge amount of exertion. So, he’d decided becoming proficient at wandless magic would make life easier, and he’d dedicated himself to the study of it with verve. It hadn’t been easy; rather, it’d been the hardest thing he’d done since his work on the Vanishing Cabinet, but the freedom of being able to do magic without a wand had been worth it. 

So, he looked around the cafe once more, saw Liz was occupied with customers, and cast the spell. He then turned his gaze on Pansy, who must’ve had a reason for it. 

“Thanks, love. I wanted to chat about the other night.” Draco scrunched his nose in displeasure. He did not want to talk about _that._ “I know you hate it, but avoiding it isn’t going to do anything for you.” 

“It might just work itself out on its own.” Draco shrugged. “Stranger things have happened.” 

Pansy just looked at him, and Draco sighed. She was right. 

“Hermione and I were talking about that night with the drinks, and then Lucy mentioned the other night with you and Harry.” She paused for dramatic effect. “Hermione says it’s the Veela allure.”

That’s what Draco had been afraid of. 

“She told me that while you’re still figuring out how to manage the transition, being drunk must activate it or something.” Pansy reached over and grabbed Draco’s hand. “It’s going to be okay.” 

Draco looked away. “I hate not being in control,” he admitted quietly. 

“I know, sweetie. I know.” She squeezed his fingers. “It’s all going to be okay. I promise.” When Draco wouldn’t meet her eyes, she said, “Hey, look at me. We will get through this together. We’ve got through much worse.” She held his gaze, and they both were transported back to a time when the world was truly ending, and they’d been on the wrong side.


	10. Chapter 10

Draco knew Robards would have a hissy fit if he knew that he was actively working on the creature case, but, well, he didn’t actually give a flying fuck what Robards thought. He might’ve cared, once, back when he was fresh from the Auror Academy, but he’d been treated poorly for too long to care any longer. Pansy had been trying to tell him for years, but he hadn’t wanted to hear it because he’d thought if he’d just worked a little bit harder, Robards would change his mind. But now, Draco could see that was never going to happen. 

“How do you stand it?” Draco blurted out, caught up in his own thoughts and forgetting for a moment who was standing by his side in a cramped alcove between a dilapidated pub and a run-down antiques shop. They’d had a lead on where some of the potions ingredients were coming from, and were scoping out the location. 

Potter looked at him in confusion, his green eyes bright in the dim light. “Stand the cold? I just use a Warming Charm.” 

Draco shook his head, and he didn’t think he could keep the fondness from his expression. “No, I meant how can you stand the endless fawning of the public? How can you stand to be thought of as only one thing, the hero, with no room to grow or change?” 

“Being a hero’s not so bad, is it?” Potter gave Draco a searching look, and Draco remembered the heat of the Fiendfyre and a boy who had saved him, even though he’d had no reason to. 

“But what if you’re not a hero?” 

“Malf—” Potter started to say, but Draco cut him off with a shake of his head. He’d heard soft footsteps approaching. 

Before he could react, someone was shoving a wand in their faces and shouting “ _Stupefy._ ” Without conscious thought, Draco pushed the person back with his wandless magic and felt his wings painfully burst out of his back. He almost stumbled to the ground, but a strong arm around his waist stopped him. He leaned gratefully against Potter, shielding him with his left wing, then moved towards the person who had tried to _Stupefy_ them. 

The wizard, who’d been knocked to his back, was now up and advancing towards them once again, wand raised. Draco would not be having any of that. He opened his beak—when had his mouth become a beak?—and a blood-curdling scream ripped through the air. The wizard shoved his hands over his ears, but somehow, Draco knew that it wouldn’t be much help. He continued to scream, his beady eyes surveying the small road and looking for any signs of movement. When he found none, he coaxed Potter with his wing to stand in front of him, ignoring the vague protests. He gently wrapped his talons around Potter’s waist, being careful not to break skin, and spread his wings wide. 

He took to the sky with a few large flaps of his wings, revelling in the freedom. He’d never before felt so unencumbered, the whole of London spread out below, lit up like the night sky. He let out a whoop of joy. He’d protected his mate from harm and now he would take them to safety. 

He wasn’t quite sure how he knew where to go, but soon they were landing gently in Potter’s back garden. Draco took ragged breaths, the flying having taken more out of him than he’d expected. 

“Erm, Malfoy, were you ever planning on letting me go?” Draco didn’t want to, but somewhere deep down, he knew he probably should. He slowly released Potter from his grasp and took a step back. Potter immediately turned to face him, and Draco smiled at his look of concern. It was cute that he was worried for him. “Are you okay?” 

The initial pain of the Veela transformation had faded, and he was feeling fine, maybe the best he’d ever felt. He nodded his head up and down.

“Well, then, let’s get you some water.” Potter opened the back door to his flat and Draco followed, careful not to knock anything over with his wings. Draco knew Potter was headed towards the kitchen, but he wanted to go somewhere else. He went up the two flights of stairs, and instead of turning left at the top of the landing, towards Potter’s spare bedroom, he took a right.

Potter’s bedroom was at the top of the house, only accessible by a small set of stairs that lead to a trap door. Draco had to fold his wings inwards to get through the narrow passage, but he was more in control than he’d been the first time he changed. He could manoeuvre his wings with little conscious thought. And wasn’t that a marvel? Maybe this Veela thing wouldn’t be quite so bad afterall. 

He’d never been inside of Potter’s bedroom (unfortunately, a small voice whispered). It was much neater than Draco was expecting, which probably wasn’t fair as Potter kept the rest of his home fairly clean. The room was quite a bit larger than the one Draco had stayed in. Long, billowy, white curtains covered the single, large window. There was a low bed against the right-hand wall covered in a dark green duvet with a subtle leaf design. Draco found himself immeasurably pleased to see his old house colours in the Golden Boy’s room. 

“Oi, Malfoy, where did you go?” 

Draco decided that if he hid under Potter’s covers, Potter wouldn’t find him. He rushed over to the bed, threw back the duvet, and slipped under the covers. It was a little challenging to pull the blankets over his wings and his head, but with a bit of wandless magic, he managed. 

He held his breath and waited. He could hear Potter moving about the house, looking first in the spare room and the bathroom and then finally, climbing the stairs to his own bedroom. When the trapdoor opened, Draco made his body as flat as possible, sucking in his ribs and stomach and burying his head beneath Potter’s pillow, which may have been a miscalculation on Draco’s part because Potter’s pillow smelled divine. 

Potter cleared his throat. “You know that I can see you, Malfoy. It’s hard to hide as a 5’10” Veela with wings.” 

Draco pouted and refused to move. He was too comfortable, and besides, Potter’s sheets were a way higher thread count than the ones in his spare room. He could hear Potter come over to the bed and he felt when Potter pulled the duvet away, but he still didn’t move. 

“Malfoy, it’s really quite rude to crawl into someone else’s bed without their permission,” Potter chastised. Draco moved slightly towards the left, leaving a bit of space for Potter. It’s not like the man was large, by any means. He was the perfect size, actually. Potter just laughed and slowly lay down beside Draco. “Thank you, for what you did back there.” Draco responded by burrowing more under the covers. 

It was silent for a moment, and then Draco felt a tentative touch at the juncture where his right wing met his right shoulder. He held completely still, curious to see what Potter would do. When Draco didn’t do anything, Potter started gently stroking his fingers along Draco’s wingtip and he had to suppress a shiver. 

As Draco relaxed into Potter’s caress, his muscles unwinding one by one, he slowly slid into a peaceful sleep.

* * *

After the fucking day he’d had, Draco’s subconscious was being kind to him by gifting him the most vivid dream. He was in Potter’s bed, luxuriating in his Italian milled Egyptian cotton 500 thread count sheets. He was being held in his favourite position: the little spoon. An arm was wrapped around his waist and the other around his chest, a hand warm over his heart. Their bodies were flush from shoulder to knee, and Draco could feel a promising bulge nestled against his arse. 

He pressed his arse back and felt an answering response. He began to move his hips in circles, enjoying the small, wrecked moans this produced from his partner. 

“Malfoy, are you sure you want to do this?” Potter, for who else would Draco’s imagination insert into a fantasy that took place in Potter’s bed, had stopped moving entirely. Draco could feel how tightly he was holding his body, and that simply wouldn’t do. 

Draco moved away from Potter so that he could roll over and look directly into his eyes. There was no light in the room, so without much thought, Draco created a small floating orb that emitted a soft yellow glow. Without his glasses, Potter’s eyes were very green, and Draco almost forgot what he wanted to say. 

He reached his right arm out and gently stroked Potter’s cheek. “This isn’t a dream, is it?” he asked, already knowing the answer, but needing to hear it from Potter. 

“No, it’s not.” Potter closed his eyes, and Draco continued his gentle stroking. His mind couldn’t have got all of Potter’s details perfect, like how Potter’s skin felt so soft beneath Draco’s fingertips or the way Potter’s body quivered at Draco’s caresses. Without opening his eyes, in the quiet space between them, Potter asked his question again. “Are you certain that you want to do this?” Draco paused his stroking, and Potter slowly opened his eyes. “I don’t want to do something you’re going to regret.” 

That was the million-Galleon question, wasn’t it? Draco wanted Potter—maybe more than he’d wanted that Nimbus 2000 his first year, which was to say, a lot—but he didn’t want what came after. He didn’t want to have to look at Potter’s face tomorrow morning and know that this had been a one time event. 

But he also was tired of denying himself _this_ , not when everything in his life was such shite. Not when it was so clear that Potter wanted him, even if it was just for now. 

He slowly moved his face towards Potter, watching as his eyes crossed as he tried to keep looking at Draco. When their noses were almost touching, Draco responded, “Just kiss me, Potter.” He closed his eyes, and leaned in those last few centimetres, sealing their lips in a chaste kiss. 

Potter pulled his head back, a look of awe on his face that made Draco blush. “As you wish, Malfoy.” And he began kissing Draco in earnest. Draco, not one to be outdone, especially not by Potter, gave as good as he was getting. At times, it seemed like they were fighting more than they were fucking, their kisses rough and full of teeth. But then, Potter would soothe the marks his teeth had left moments before, and Draco would do the same, and soon, it’d be like they’d never fought. 

“Not that I’m not enjoying this,” Potter said, each word punctuated by a ragged breath, “But I do believe there’s a bit more we could be doing, no?” He ran his hands down Draco’s bare chest, hovering over Draco’s Sectumsempra scars. 

Before Potter could say anything, Draco spoke, “Don’t you dare say anything. These are as much a part of me as the Dark Mark. They serve as daily reminders of who I was as a boy, and of how far I’ve come.” 

“I won’t say anything about the scars, but what about these?” Potter traced the black lines of Draco’s Muggle tattoo. 

“I would think it’s pretty obvious, no?” Draco teased. Potter poked him in the stomach in retaliation and Draco reached for Potter’s armpits, planning to tickle him. But he wasn’t able to reach them because Potter was wearing a Muggle sweatshirt. “But don’t we have more important things to think about, like you taking this off?” 

Potter smirked and pushed away from Draco, sitting up and taking off his Muggle sweatshirt and t-shirt. Draco, who had seen Potter shirtless plenty of times, thanks to the man’s propensity for walking around his house half naked, still couldn’t keep his eyes away from Potter’s toned body. It was different, knowing he could look, that Potter _wanted_ him to. 

His eyes were drawn first to Potter’s own tattoo, which spread wide across his right lower abdomen. As Draco watched, the tattoo changed, the phoenix bursting into flames and then all but disappearing from view. Draco reached out to touch where the wing had been, now only bare skin. Potter turned slightly, and Draco could see a small egg on Potter’s side. Draco wanted to know more about the tattoo, of course, but he’d ask later. He gripped Potter’s hip and pulled him on top, so they were flush once more. 

Potter’s eyes were so bright, and his lips so plush, that Draco had no choice but to kiss him again. It was messy and needy, and everything Draco had ever wanted. Potter began to trail sloppy kisses along Draco’s chin, and then his collarbones, finding his way to Draco’s scars. He pressed careful, reverent kisses along each one, and Draco knew that no matter what happened between them, he could never truly regret the way Potter was cherishing his body. Potter turned his attention to Draco’s nipples, which were quite sensitive and Draco could not stop the moans that escaped him. “Yes, Potter, please.” 

Potter stopped for a moment and Draco whimpered. “I think it’s okay for you to call me Harry, you know. I don’t do this with just every bloke.” 

Fine. If that meant Pott-Harry would get back to it. “Please, Harry,” Draco begged. Harry smiled and went back to work, using light nicks of his teeth and then soothing it over with his tongue, driving Draco almost to the breaking point. 

Harry, perhaps sensing how close Draco was to coming undone, started to move further down Draco’s body. He reached the top of Draco’s trousers and then stopped, looking up and giving Draco a questioning look. His lips were plump and red and wet from kissing and he looked like every fantasy Draco had ever had. 

“I’m certain.” At Harry’s continued pause, Draco added, “Harry.” Harry must’ve seen something in Draco’s face at that because he nodded his head and then was pushing Draco’s trousers and pants off. 

“Posh,” Harry said as he flung Draco’s pants off to the side. 

“You like it.” Harry only blushed, which meant Draco was right. Draco just smirked and Harry responded by licking Draco’s cock. He backed off, and Draco was eager for his touch. “Fuck, Harry.”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to do, in case you haven’t noticed.” Harry spread his arms wide and looked for all the world like a sex savant. 

“You’re a prat.” 

“You like it.” Now it was Draco’s turn to look away and blush. 

“So what if I do?” 

“Then I’d say it’s a good thing, because _I_ like _you_.” Harry emphasised this point by lightly teasing Draco’s cock, gently tonguing the tip and licking the precome. A shudder wracked Draco’s body and he pressed his hips up, seeking more. Harry stopped the motion with a proprietary hand, pushing him to the bed. “Eager, are we?” 

Draco could feel the challenge in the way Harry was holding him down. “Been waiting a long fucking time, Potter.” 

“I thought I told you to call me Harry.” 

“Only if you do something to deserve it.” Draco wanted nothing more than to thrust up into Harry’s waiting mouth, but he was a Malfoy, damn it, and very good at controlling himself. 

“Something like this, I wonder?” Harry mused, and then sucked the entire length of Draco’s cock into his mouth. Draco almost screamed, everything too sensitive, but the look on Harry’s face made him stop. 

“Well, only if you do something about it.” Draco aimed to be demanding but his breathy tone wasn’t fooling anyone. It didn’t matter, though, because Potter started moving his mouth up and down Draco’s cock. Draco wanted so desperately to thrust in time with his movements, but he stopped himself. 

Harry, for he was Harry now, slid off with a squelch and brought a hand up to wipe his mouth. “You don’t have to hold yourself back.” Harry stroked the line of Draco’s dragon tattoo that ran just below his navel. “You can let go.” Draco shook his head minutely. Even in bed, he still liked to be in control, even if it was minimal. He couldn’t just _let go_. It wasn’t that easy. “For me, please,” Harry asked, and when had Draco ever been able to deny him anything. They’d hurt each other too many times; they’d saved each other more. He nodded his head. Harry’s answering smile could’ve powered a few dozen Muggle light bulbs. 

Harry once again started moving his mouth on Draco’s cock, and Draco did his best to give himself over to the sensations wrecking his body. He closed his eyes and began to thrust his hips in time with Harry. Draco soon lost control entirely, fucking Harry’s mouth with abandon. 

“I’m going to—” Draco tried to warn. Potter grunted in response, but didn’t stop what he was doing, which Draco took to mean acquiescence, and came with a shudder. Harry swallowed, and then made his way back up to Draco. 

“You really are something else,” he said before kissing Draco senseless. Draco, who was not usually a fan of kissing after a blow job without a Cleaning Charm in between, found that it wasn't so bad when the person doing the kissing was Harry Potter.

As they kissed, it became apparent that while Draco had come, Harry had not. Draco reached a hand between them and began to stroke Harry through his pyjamas. Harry arched into the touch initially, but then moved away from Draco. “If you keep doing that, I’ll come.” 

“Isn’t that the point of this little”—Draco gestured between them—“event.” 

Harry flushed prettily and looked down at the sheets. “Well, yeah, but I was hoping that we could, well…” 

“Fuck?” Draco suggested, a smirk on his lips. “Oh, Potter, of course we can fuck. Don’t you worry your pretty head; I’ve got you all sorted.” Draco whispered a spell and wriggled his arse a little as he felt the effects. Harry looked down at his own cock as it was now coated liberally in lube. Conjured lube wasn’t the same, but it would do in a pinch, and Draco was not in a patient mood. 

When Harry realised what Draco had done, his confused look turned lustful. “We are going to have words later about your apparent skill with wandless magic, Malfoy.” 

Draco pouted. “I thought it was Draco, now.” 

“Draco, get on your stomach and show me that pert arse of yours.” Draco shivered at Harry’s commanding tone and did as he asked. Although he’d come quite recently, Draco’s cock was making a valiant effort to join the proceedings. Draco shifted on the bed, trying to get comfortable, but stopped moving when Harry put a hand on his left arsecheek. “This arse could launch a thousand ships. You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this.” And then Harry’s hand was gone and his tongue was there, lightly running between Draco’s balls and his arsehole. Draco couldn’t help moving his arse back and forth, seeking more. Harry pulled Draco’s hips back and spread his cheeks wide, and Draco could not stop the blush that spread from his cheeks to his chest. 

“Are you going to get on with it?” 

“Impatient, are we?” Harry teased, his breath ghosting across Draco’s arsehole. 

“Just waiting to be filled with your big cock. You don’t have to go slow—I’m ready.”

“Maybe I want to. Did you ever think about that?” Harry began rimming Draco enthusiastically, and Draco found he no longer had a coherent thought in his brain except for _more, please_. He pushed his arse shamelessly in Harry’s face, who ate arse like he sucked cock, which was to say, impressively. 

Draco reached towards his cock and started stroking it, coaxing it from half-hard to full hardness. This didn’t take long, and Draco soon had to remove his hand entirely, overwhelmed. 

Harry pulled his face away from Draco’s arse, and Draco waited impatiently. But instead of feeling Harry’s cock, he felt Harry’s hand on his hip. “Are you sure you want this, Draco?” he asked softly. “Because I’m fairly easy and I don’t mind if we do it the other way.”

Draco could cry. Nothing about this had been _easy_. “If you don’t start fucking me immediately, we will be having problems, Potter.” He shoved his arse back to make sure Harry understood he was being serious. 

The bedroom was quiet, the only sound filling it their ragged breaths. And then Draco felt the most delicious stretch as Harry finally stopped teasing him. He let out a moan, pressing his arse back, wanting more. 

“Still eager?” Harry breathed. 

“I’m fairly certain we already established that.” 

“You’re too coherent.” Harry slid fully into Draco, his balls resting against Draco’s arse. “Let’s see if I can do something about that?” Draco couldn’t stop the shiver at the promise in Harry’s words. Harry started fucking Draco at a steady pace. 

“Is that the best you can do?” 

“I’ll show you the best.” Harry shifted his angle, moving slightly up, and when he slid back in, Draco’s world exploded. “That’s more like it.” Draco could hear the smirk in his voice, but he found he didn’t care. If only Harry would do it again. 

Harry did it again, and again, and then he reached a hand to Draco’s throbbing cock, beginning to stroke it roughly. As Harry’s strokes sped up in time with his thrusting, Draco knew he couldn’t hold back much longer, the heat that was building threatening to explode. And more than that, he didn’t _want_ to, not here, not with Harry. 

He came with a hoarse cry, collapsing face first onto the bed. Harry continued to move determinedly, and Draco tried to meet Harry’s motions, but he was so tired. Harry seemed to be handling it just fine on his own, his movements becoming erratic and his breaths more laboured. 

“Draco,” Harry cried as he came. He pulled out and collapsed on top of Draco, who tolerated it for about half a second, and then shoved Harry off. Harry rolled over with a grunt, and Draco wanted nothing more than to drift off, maybe with a bit of cuddling, but he hated waking up a sticky mess. He conjured a soft flannel and began to wipe himself off as best he could. He turned to Harry, who looked so relaxed. Draco gently began wiping off Harry’s cock, marvelling at the fact he’d just been fucked by Harry Potter. If only his sixth-year self could see him now. He’d act horrified, of course, but deep down, Draco knew, he’d be pleased. 

“Why don’t you just use a Cleaning Charm?” Harry mumbled, opening one eye and watching Draco sleepily. 

“A flannel’s much nicer, isn’t it?” Draco Vanished the flannel, and laid down on his side. When Harry didn’t immediately start spooning him, he cleared his throat. “Sometimes it’s nice to cuddle after sex.” 

“I think there was a question in there.” 

“Prat.” 

Harry laughed, but he rolled over and pulled Draco close. He put one arm around Draco’s chest, and Draco interlaced their fingers together, already drifting off, his body exhausted.


	11. Chapter 11

_**Interlude** _

_You know that something is not right, but there’s nothing you can do. Your body screams as it is forced through the transformation, muscle tearing and bone splitting. You collapse as it happens, but once done, you rise on shaky legs._

_You are drawn right and then left, into a dark alcove, where you find a body. You do not know where the body is from, but that does not concern you. You know what you are supposed to do._

_You drag the body out of the alcove and onto the street. It’s night, so there are no people around, which is good for your purposes. You look at the body. You see a man, balding, with brown hair. He looks like he could be sleeping peacefully._

_Some deep part of you wishes you could exchange places with the man. You cannot._

_Instead, you bend down to the man’s shoulders and bite. You don’t stop._

* * *

Draco rolled onto his stomach, revelling in the tiredness of a good fucking. His arse was sore, but it was in the best kind of way and he wasn’t complaining. He was in the sweet spot between sleep and waking, drifting in and out of his memories of the night before. He couldn’t help the small smile that overtook his face as he remembered just what he and Harry had done, just how free he’d felt, like flying.

Maybe things wouldn’t be perfect between them, but Draco knew there was something there that they could work with.

As he fully woke, though, he realised he was alone in Harry’s big bed. He arched his neck up, trying to determine if Harry had gone to the bathroom or maybe to make tea, even though he knew better than that. But the house was silent. Draco hadn’t been expecting breakfast in bed and a lazy morning fuck, but he’d thought Potter would’ve at least had the decency to still be in the damn house.

The blissful feeling evaporated and Draco was bereft. Harry—but that didn’t feel right, not after he’d left him to wake up alone—so, Potter, must have woken up and regretted everything, just as Draco had feared. 

Well, fuck Potter. 

Draco heard a meow from outside the bedroom door. Not long after, he saw Noir prance into the bedroom. 

“How did you get in, little fellow?” The cat meowed in response. “Well, since Potter’s not here, why don’t you come up on the bed for some pets?” Draco patted the empty space next to his head, and Noir jumped up, butting his head against Draco’s hand. “Demanding one, aren’t you?” Draco smiled as he scratched Noir’s head. He started to purr loudly, weaving around Draco’s hands. 

Draco cupped his hands and ran them along Noir’s body, pressing lightly. Noir continued to purr, walking forward a couple of centimetres and then turning around to make sure that Draco was following, which of course he was. Noir slowly made his way over to where Harry had been sleeping, curling up in a floof on Potter’s surprisingly soft pillow. Draco scritched under his neck, and Noir batted lightly at his fingers. “You’d never run out on me the morning after, now would you?” 

The cat stopped playing with Draco’s fingers and gave him a very serious look. Well, serious for a cat at least. “You’re twice the man than he is, and you’re just a cat.” Draco resumed petting Noir and he soon gave himself over to Draco’s ministrations, rolling onto his back and offering his fluffy underbelly. Draco—who had been falsely lured into petting a cat on its stomach before, only to have to evade an attack of its claws—was not quick to reach for Noir’s belly. 

When Noir realised Draco had stopped petting him, he turned his intense green eyes on Draco. He never could resist a beguiling green stare, and so he carefully, oh so carefully, reached for Noir’s soft belly. When he didn’t immediately feel claws in his hand, he gently started rubbing, and he could hear Noir’s purr deepen. “You’re such a glutton for cuddles.” The cat only purred louder in response. 

Too soon, Draco began to feel uncomfortable still being naked in Potter’s bed when Potter himself was no longer there. So, he reluctantly got out of bed and headed downstairs to the bathroom, planning on stealing one of Harry’s decadent bathrobes. The tosser didn’t need two. But Noir tried to follow him in and Draco drew the line at showering with a furry friend trying to watch. “I’m sorry, but you can’t come in. Now go. Shoo.” He flicked his wrist towards the door. “Before Potter comes back and finds I’ve let a strange cat into his home.” 

Noir was still for a moment, tilting his head to the side, and then he turned around, flicked his tail goodbye, and was gone. Draco closed the door with a thud and quickly got the shower started. He didn’t have any of his favourite soaps or shower products, so he’d have to make do with Potter’s two-in-one body wash and shampoo. Draco shuddered at the thought. How Potter managed to keep his hair so soft—and Draco now knew exactly how it felt to run his fingers through Potter’s bird nest—Draco had no idea. 

He went through an abridged shower routine, letting the warm water soothe his sore muscles. Potter’s combined body wash and shampoo actually worked surprisingly well, and it smelled just like him, which was simultaneously turning Draco on—apparently he’d developed some kind of Pavlovian response—but also making him sad.

Why had Potter left? When they’d gone to sleep, Draco had thought they were both on the same page. What had gone wrong? Was Potter disgusted by sleeping with a Veela? That seemed out of character for Harry Potter, champion of the underserved. And he’d not acted scared when Draco had been fully transformed, so that couldn’t be it either. Was it because of Draco’s Veela nature? That made more sense, and Pansy had said something about his allure. What if Potter had only slept with him because of his allure? Draco knew he’d wanted Potter, but what if Potter had only wanted him because of who he’d become? Fuck being a Veela. 

He stepped out of the shower, desperate to wrap himself in Potter’s robe. But he stopped when he saw himself in Harry’s charmed mirror. He looked different, somehow. It wasn’t in the specific details of his appearance—his scars and tattoos all looked the same. Draco shivered, despite himself, recalling the sensation of Potter’s talented tongue tracing the lines of his dragon tattoo. He shook his head slightly as he tried to pinpoint what the exact difference was, ultimately deciding there was a vulnerability to his features that hadn’t been there before. He didn’t like that. He frowned and his reflection frowned back. 

With some effort, he put that thought out of his mind. He wouldn’t be vulnerable again, so there was no use worrying about it. He pulled on Potter’s robe and stepped out of the bathroom, half expecting to be greeted by Noir, who just wouldn’t leave. 

Instead, Potter was standing there, a hand around his neck, his gaze falling to the left of Draco’s face. The twin peaks of longing and hatred rose in Draco like the tide and he started speaking before Potter could get a word in. 

“How nice of you to show up in your own home,” he said acerbically. When Potter opened his mouth to try to say something, Draco spoke over him. “I want to be very clear here, Potter.” The words seemed to strike Potter, and Draco knew he was objecting to his use of Potter’s given name. “Last night was a mistake.” He held up a finger to stop Potter again. “We both know it only happened because of the damn Veela allure, so I think it’d be best if we just move on and pretend like it never happened.” And if it felt like his heart was breaking a second time, well, no one needed to know.

“Dra—” At Draco’s stern look, Potter quickly switched tacks. “Malfoy, please. I think you’ve got it all wrong.”

Draco did not care to hear what Potter thought. “It did not happen,” he hissed. “I’d thank you to remember that.”

Potter looked like he still wanted to speak—the bastard had never been good at following rules—but Draco stopped him by simply moving past him and towards the bedroom. “I’m very close to making a breakthrough on what this last component of the potion is, and then we’ll be able to reconstruct it.” He’d almost had it figured it out, and he wasn’t going to stop doing his job just because they’d fucked.


	12. Chapter 12

Draco unfortunately found himself once again in Potter’s work room. He’d wanted to avoid the git as much as possible, but there was no other place he could do his potions work, and he was so close to figuring out what the final ingredient was. 

The morning after their liaison, Draco had been able to isolate the last component, but he’d not had the time to analyse it further. So, much to his chagrin, he’d had to come back. Draco had been tempted to ask for Potter not to be there, but he’d stopped short because even though it’s what he wanted, he’d felt bad asking Potter for it. It wasn’t Potter’s fault, not really. It would’ve been unfair of Draco to have expected Potter to have resisted his allure. That wasn’t the way his allure worked. He found he couldn’t hate Potter as much as he wanted to. If anything, he hated himself for what he’d become. 

Oh, he’d changed since the war, and he was no longer that scared, misinformed boy. He’d got Muggle tattoos, embraced various aspects of Muggle fashion, and culture; he’d even worked with Hermione to establish a committee that worked specifically with underrepresented individuals in the Ministry to make sure their voices were heard. And he knew it wasn’t nearly enough, might not ever be enough, but he’d been trying. And then to have to deal with this, too? It was too much. 

Draco knew if he looked deeper, what he really, truly resented was the loss of control. He’d worked so hard to carefully craft his life after the war—becoming an Auror, smiling and nodding when people sent stray hexes and jinxes his way, doing his damned best to live under everyone’s radar—but sleeping with Potter had been the exact opposite of all that. It’d been a risk, a chance to let himself be free and throw off the safeguards he’d put in place to protect himself. 

And that risk had backfired. He was hurting, and he suspected that Potter was, too. Especially because sleeping together hadn’t been entirely Potter’s choice; his new Veela allure was at least partially to blame. He wished that he was seeing Pansy sooner, because she was the only one who would convince him otherwise. 

His wand dinged, drawing Draco away from his maudlin thoughts. He looked down at the potion brewing away in the cauldron and saw it had turned a deep pink, which meant the final ingredient was a Jobberknoll feather. It was much more common to see Lethe River Water in memory potions. But Jobberknoll feathers were extremely rare, and therefore heavily monitored, which would make it easy for the Aurors to find out who was buying large quantities of them. 

But now he had to tell Potter, which he dreaded, but the sooner he did so, the sooner the case would be finished. And the sooner the case was wrapped up, the sooner Draco could go back to work and never see Potter again if he could help it. 

He wandered out of Potter’s workroom and began to look for him, but his house was empty. Noir, who had started showing up more frequently ever since that fateful morning, wasn’t anywhere to be found. 

Draco was standing in the kitchen, contemplating making tea in Potter’s vintage teapot when the man himself entered, looking extremely harried. “Oh good, you’re still here.” 

“You told me your workroom was mine to use until we solved this case.”

“You’re welcome to much more than that, if you want it.” Potter looked at Draco entreatingly, his green eyes wide and bright, and Draco had to force himself to look away. 

“You looked like you had something case-related to tell me,” Draco said. If Potter wasn’t going to keep things professional between them, then it’d just fall to Draco to do so. 

“There’s been a development with the case. It seems like the criminal has escalated from violence to actual murder. A body that had been mauled to death by a werewolf was found near the west end of Westminster.” 

“Fuck.” 

“That about sums it up. And the werewolf who committed the murder is inconsolable. Understandable, really. Even the best Mind Healer is going to have their work cut out for them.” Despite himself, Draco felt his gaze drawn to Potter’s like a magnet. They both knew what it was like to be forced to do regrettable things under someone else’s influence. Draco would always carry the burden of his sixth and seventh years, and even the best Mind Healers had not been able to rid him of the memories. They’d told him that wasn’t their job; rather, they were there to help Draco process everything that had happened, but he still sometimes wished he could just be Obliviated. Draco knew Potter sometimes wanted to forget, too. 

“So, what is the DMLE going to do?” 

Potter shrugged. “What we’ve been doing. Figuring out where the potion is coming from, and then finding the person responsible.” 

“I figured out what the final ingredient was.”

“You’re brilliant.” Potter seemed to want to hug, but Draco held up his hands in protest. He didn’t want Potter to get too close. 

“Well, hopefully it’s one of the last pieces of this puzzle and helps us close the case.”

“What was the final ingredient?” Potter asked, bouncing slightly on his toes like an over excited child.

“Jobberknoll feathers, which are highly regulated by the Ministry, so it should be easy to see who has been ordering large quantities of them.” Potter, damn the man, was smiling so compellingly that Draco found it hard to remember why it was such a bad idea to capitulate. 

“Great, I’ll send an owl to Ron and Hermione to let them know.” He gave Draco another heartfelt look. “Really great job, Malfoy.”

* * *

“We found an address in the countryside where large quantities of Jobberknoll feathers are being sent, but when we went to check it out, we only found an abandoned shed,” Pansy told him. 

“What does that mean for the case?”

“We’ll keep investigating, searching for other leads. Speaking of other leads,” Pansy gave him a meaningful look, “What’s going on between you and Harry?”

“Pans, please don’t start,” Draco pleaded. “There’s nothing to talk about. We fucked. He left. We won’t be doing it again.” 

“Oh darling, I know it was more than that. I’ve seen him, and he’s not been his usual self.” 

“How’re things going between you and El?” Draco asked, hoping to change the topic of conversation. “It’s been a while since you’ve updated me.” 

“I see what you’re doing, and I’m not going to let you get away with it.” She waved an accusing finger in his face. “But things are going well.” She smiled softly. 

“I’m glad to hear that.” And Draco was. There was no one more deserving of a loving and caring partner. 

“Seriously, Draco, I know you met with Fleur a few days ago. What did she have to say about it?” 

Draco didn’t particularly want to tell Pansy what Fleur had said, but he knew she wouldn’t let it go if he didn’t. He sighed as dramatically as he could, and Pansy just rolled her eyes. “It’s different for her, being only a quarter Veela. But she talked to me about the importance of accepting my Veela nature. She said that only through complete acceptance could I hope to have any control over my transformation.”

Pansy nodded knowingly. “Nothing I hadn’t already told you. But you can be so stubborn, and sometimes I think it helps you to hear it 100 times over.”

“Alright, alright”—Draco held up his hands in a conciliatory gesture—“I’ll start listening to all the women in my life who are smarter than me.”

“Good.” Pansy grinned. “And don’t you forget it.” 

There was perhaps a bit more Draco should tell her, but, well, if she wasn’t going to ask…then he didn’t have to answer, did he? 

“No, no.” Pansy waved her finger at him like he was a poorly behaving Kneazle. “There’s more—I can see it in your eyes. What else did she say?” 

Damn. There was no escaping Pansy’s sharp gaze. “She told me about Veela mates.” 

“And what exactly did she say?” Pansy prompted. 

Aw, fuck. “She said that the Veela allure doesn’t work on your mate.” 

“Aha, I knew it. Lucy told me there was something strange going on between you and Harry at the bar that night. And it makes sense, doesn’t it? You two have always been drawn to each other, since that first day on the train.”

“No,” Draco disagreed. “Potter can’t be my mate.” Draco shook his head vehemently. “That wouldn’t be fair to him. He had no choice in the matter.” Even if he could feel the rightness of it down to his very bones, he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he coerced Potter. 

“Oh, darling.” She reached across the table and took his hand. “Don’t you think you should ask Harry before you go jumping to conclusions? He could very well feel the same way.” 

“I can’t. I just can’t, Pans.” Draco looked down at the table. “What if he decided to walk away from me? It was hard enough that morning, and I didn’t know he was my mate. I couldn’t take the rejection. It’s easier this way.” 

“But what if he said he wanted the same thing you do?” she asked softly, squeezing Draco’s hand. “Please, don’t deny yourself this just because you’re scared of being hurt.”


	13. Chapter 13

Draco was listless. Ever since he’d figured out what the last potion ingredient had been, he hadn’t been back to Potter’s place. He couldn’t quite say when it had happened, probably after he’d had that conversation with Pansy, but he’d started to think of Potter’s house as his home away from home. And he hadn’t seen much of Potter, either, which also left Draco feeling bereft, even if he hated himself for it at the same time. 

He’d been to Flour Power every day for the last week and he knew even Liz’s company and divine London Fogs would not comfort him now. He needed to move, to get out of his flat. So, he decided to put on his Muggle trainers, which had been a gift from Pansy, and go for a run. He sent an owl to Lucy, even though it was last minute, and invited her along.

Draco left his flat and turned right at the end of the street, heading towards the water. Even though the Thames was nothing like the rivers in Wiltshire, there was something about flowing water that was calming. He came upon the riverbank and turned right, following the path downstream. Since it was just after dinnertime, the streets had cleared from the workday rush and Draco could let his mind wander without having to worry about avoiding any people. 

And these days, there was only one place Draco’s thoughts went: Harry bloody Potter. Draco wished he could blame his Veela transformation and wash his hands of the whole damn thing, but deep down, he knew that while the transformation may have been the catalyst that brought them together, the way he felt about Potter had not changed much. 

He was still infatuated with the man, and sleeping together had not done anything to improve the situation. It’d only made Draco hate himself more, while also still craving a closeness with Potter that would only end with his heart breaking. 

He’d been thinking a lot about what Fleur had said about Veela mates, and also what she’d said about what it meant to be Veela, and even though he hated to admit it, he knew she had a point. 

“Hey there, stranger,” he heard Lucy’s voice call from behind him. He slowed down and she caught up. “Fancy meeting you here.” 

“Thanks for coming. I could really use the chance to get out of my head.” 

“Let me guess, you’ve been thinking about Harry Potter,” she teased. 

“Am I that obvious?” 

“You only bring him up every single time we talk. It’s understandable, really, especially with the added Veela stuff. But, you said you wanted to get out of your head.” Lucy sped a few feet ahead and then turned around. “Catch me if you can!” She took off sprinting, and Draco was once again grateful for the empty streets. He took off after her, but she had a good lead. 

She wove gracefully down the street, avoiding lamp posts and benches like a true pro. As Draco continued to push himself, the distance between them stayed the same. Finally, Draco had to slow down, bringing one arm across his stomach and heaving in large gulps of air. 

Lucy, who must’ve noticed Draco was no longer trailing her, had jogged back to him. “You’re living up to your old man status.” 

Draco gave her the middle finger. 

“That was rude and uncalled for, Draco Malfoy.”

“Oh fuck off. As if you have any room to talk.” 

“Excuse you.” Lucy held up a hand in mock protest. “I demand you take that back. I am a lady, first and foremost.” 

“A lady who can curse,” Draco muttered. “But that’s what I love about you, so please don’t change.” 

“Don’t worry, you fucker, I don’t plan to.” They started walking back the way they had come, falling into easy conversation. They parted ways when Draco had to turn up towards his flat, and Lucy continued on.

Draco finished his run with a few stretches in front of his flat, letting his mind settle into the calm that always came after exercising. In addition to meditation, he’d picked up running and yoga as ways to help his mind stop obsessing over every little thing and be still for a little while. 

When he unlocked the door to his flat, he saw there were three owls floating outside his living room, which was strange. He went over and opened his window wide, and they all flew in, landing on the small owl perch near his desk. He quickly untied each message and absent-mindedly reached into the drawer where he kept the owl treats, already skimming the words on each message. 

He became more alarmed as he read each subsequent message.

> _Malfoy,_
> 
> _We need you to come to Harry’s ASAP. Owl me back when you get this message._
> 
> _-Ron Weasley_
> 
> _Draco,_
> 
> _It’s serious. Get your arse over here, love._
> 
> _-Pansy_
> 
> _Draco,_
> 
> _It’s about Harry. He’s missing._
> 
> _-Hermione_

Fuck. He threw his desk drawer open, reaching in for a scrap of parchment and grabbed his quill, writing only that he’d got the messages and would be over immediately. He ran to his bedroom, whispering a Cleaning Charm as he went, his mind working through all of the possibilities of what could’ve happened. 

He was on number ten when he stumbled through Potter’s Floo, quickly righting himself in his small living room. Hermione greeted him with a tight smile. 

“Oh thank Merlin you’re here.” She reached for his arm and dragged him to Potter’s kitchen, where they’d set up. “I need help analysing Harry’s notes.” 

Draco looked around the room, expecting to find Pansy and Weasley, but instead it was empty. 

“They went to do something for Robards,” Hermione explained as she saw what Draco was looking for. “I wanted to be here to fill you in on the situation.” She sat down in one of the kitchen chairs and gestured for Draco to do the same, but he couldn’t be idle. He instead went over to Potter’s cabinets and took out his favourite teapot and began preparing tea the Muggle way to calm his nerves. “We didn’t know that anything was truly wrong until this afternoon, when Harry didn’t show up for his meeting with the Unspeakables.” Hermione wrung her hands, and Draco tried to focus on the steps to making the tea, knowing if he let his careful concentration go, all would be lost. 

“He wasn’t at the Ministry this morning, but you know that he didn’t always go into the office. He usually tried to avoid it, if he could, but this meeting with the Unspeakables was something that he would’ve come in for. There was another incident—another body had been mauled.” Hermione shook her head, and Draco could see that her eyes were wet. “And Rita Skeeter, damn her to hell, somehow got her hands on photos from the crime scene and the public is in a frenzy, demanding the DMLE take a harsh stance on creature regulation.” 

Once the tea was ready, Draco took his favourite mug from the drying rack, which had a ridiculous Muggle cat in a hat on it, and poured his tea. He also made a cup for Hermione, being sure to levitate some milk and sugar because he didn’t know how she took her tea. 

“Thank you,” she said softly, pouring in a splash of milk and a teaspoon of sugar. She blew on the liquid to cool it and then took a small sip. “It’s barbaric, Draco, it really is. If they would just think for one moment, they’d realise that this is exactly what the criminal wants. They’d understand that Rita is driving them into this frenzy and they’d look for actual sources that support her claims, but they’re just so eager to have a scandal, and someone to blame, that they’ve taken to her cause like ducks to water.” 

“When that’s all you’ve known, it’s easy to not look for anything that might challenge your assumptions. But what does this all mean for Potter?”

“Oh, right. I got off on a tangent.” Hermione looked at him blearily. “My mind is all over the place.” 

“It’s alright. I understand.” 

“So, when Harry didn’t show up for the meeting earlier today, I was really starting to worry. I sent an owl here, but he didn’t send one back. I tried to text his Muggle phone”—she held up a small silver device—“but he didn’t respond. When I called him, it went straight to voicemail. Then, I tried to come over here, but his Floo wasn’t open and I couldn’t Apparate, so I had to do it the Muggle way.” 

“What did you find?” Draco asked, already knowing that it would be Potter missing. He could sense Potter wasn’t at home. 

“He wasn’t here. And when I asked everyone who might’ve known where he was, they also told me that they hadn’t seen him since yesterday. And then we found this.” Hermione held up what looked like a Galleon. “It’s Harry’s Dumbledore’s Army coin, and it has a message for Ron and me.” 

Draco examined the Galleon, turning it over curiously. Now that he was holding it, he could tell it was fake. “And what does it mean?”

“Help,” Hermione said simply.

* * *

Using a neat combination of spellwork and tracing, they’d been able to determine that Potter had been taken to the small, abandoned shed where the Jobberknoll feathers had been sent. Draco was with Weasley and Lucy, searching for any other clue in the small space. 

“There’s nothing here. Dammit, Harry.” Weasley banged the door open and stormed out. Draco wanted to follow, but there was something niggling at the back of his mind. He walked around the space once again, examining each wall closely. When he was on his second time circling the small shed, his eye caught on the back wall, where there was a shimmering, hazy light. 

“Come and check this out,” he called to Lucy, who was standing by the door, most likely debating if she should go after Weasley or stay and help Draco. At his call, she came over to join him, letting the door slam closed. “I think there’s something off about this wall.” He pointed with his wand. “Do you see what I mean?” 

She squinted one eye closed and moved her face forward until it was mere centimetres from the wall, sniffing. “It smells strange, too.” 

Draco carefully moved his index finger towards the wall, and gasped when it went through. He pulled it out immediately. 

“That’s a neat trick.” Lucy followed suit, extending her whole arm through the façade of the wall. She pulled it back slowly, shivering at the cool sensation. “Do you think we can go through it?”

Draco considered her question. Clearly, there was something there, if the criminal had gone to all the trouble of hiding it behind an extremely complex wall. But who knew what would be greeting them on the other side. He held up one finger to stall Lucy, and aimed his wand at the wall, whispering a spell. 

The multi-coloured light ricocheted off the false surface, casting Lucy’s face in rainbow light. That was mostly what Draco had been expecting, but he was still disappointed it hadn’t gone through. 

Lucy held up her own wand and cast a minor hex. The spell also ricocheted back. Lucy shrugged. “I guess there’s nothing to be done but see if we can go through.” Lucy backed up a few steps and ran through it at top speed, disappearing. Draco peered through the wall, but he couldn’t see anything. 

Just as he’d made the decision to follow her through, her disembodied hand came out of the wall and she wriggled her fingers in what Draco thought was invitation. “Fuck it.” He ran straight into the wall. 

It felt similar to passing through the train platform at King’s Cross, but the wall had more substance, and Draco was glad he’d had a running start, or else he’d have landed on his arse on the other side. Thankfully, he had enough momentum and managed to save himself from falling flat on his face in front of Lucy. 

Draco turned back around and he could see the shed, but it felt like looking through water. Everything seemed blurry and out of focus. Turning towards the other room, he quickly took in the shelves filled with half-filled bottles and assorted equipment, noting the three cauldrons that were sitting in the centre. 

“This must be their main potions lab.” Draco walked over to the cauldrons and cautiously peeked inside. They were empty, but there was a silver residue on their insides that Draco knew the potion left behind. He withdrew his wand from his leg holster and pointed it at the cauldrons, ensuring everything would stay in stasis. “We should go tell Weasley.”


	14. Chapter 14

_**Interlude** _

_You are strong, a fighter, not quick to be subdued. You lash out, all the force of your magic a wave swirling in the air, so bright you have to close your eyes and direct it by feel. But, by Merlin, you’ve had a lot of practice, your magic an obedient beast trained to listen to the most minute of signals from its master._

_Your aim is precise, your magic coiled—you expect to be free in mere seconds._

_You are not. Your body’s reactions slow, your magic withers; you curse, but you cannot move. You are trapped._

_You are still for a moment, the tension tight in every muscle in your body, your face clenched. You have admirable control, but that will soon change. In no time at all, you will become a slave to the moon, your body forced to become a creature you’ll hate so much you’ll wish you could die._

_You won’t be dying yet, though. You still have something to do._

* * *

Draco took a bite of his Thai takeaway and mulled over what they knew. He’d created a board of all the relevant information, similar to what they had in Muggle detective programmes, and he’d even added the red string connecting the dots. Pansy found the whole thing a bit ridiculous, but she’d adopted Weasley’s haphazard organisation system, so he didn’t think she was an expert on the subject matter. 

“Okay, so let’s take a step back and talk big picture,” Lucy said, gesturing at the board. “We know the details of this case backwards and forwards, but I think the bigger question is why Potter, and why now?” 

“Well, we’ve already established that it’s someone who is extremely anti-creature. They want to force the Ministry to regulate creature behaviour, which would only lead to more tensions between creatures and the broader wizarding community.”

“Perhaps they think kidnapping Harry Potter will give them a bargaining chip. That the Ministry will negotiate Potter’s release in exchange for passing certain legislation,” Lucy mused.

“But then why hasn’t the person responsible for these attacks reached out to anyone?” Draco gestured to his board, where there was a disappointing lack of ransom notes. “No, I think they actually mean to force Potter to Turn into some creature, maybe even change him themself.” 

Lucy looked at him, her mouth a wide O in surprise. “You think the person responsible for everything is a creature themself?”

Draco nodded. “It’s something I’d mentioned to Pansy previously, but I’m quite certain of it. People often hate the parts of themselves that they have no control over. I’d wager that this person was forced to Turn against their will, and their deep hatred for all creatures stems from there.” 

“So why now? Do you think they were Turned recently or…” Lucy trailed off. “Or, or, it has something to do with the ten year anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts.” 

“Merlin, you’re a genius,” Draco crowed, setting his takeaway down and jumping up to hug her. As soon as he’d got up, though, he realised that he wasn’t a hugger, and especially not with his colleagues. But Lucy just smiled and opened her arms, and Draco leaned in—it was surprisingly nice. And they were on the right path; he could feel it. “So, let’s say that they’re doing this _now_ because the anniversary is coming up. That means they were probably Turned back in the war.” 

“You’re right. They must’ve been biding their time, waiting for this moment. We have to get a list of all the people on record who were Turned.” Lucy put her takeaway containers in the bin and prepared to head to the Ministry. “We’re going to find him,” she promised. “And we’re going to get your job back.” 

Draco smiled at her. He wasn’t so sure he wanted his job back anymore.

* * *

“So this is a list of everyone who was Turned during the war.” Pansy levitated a sheet over to Draco, who was sitting in Potter’s kitchen, drinking tea out of his favourite mug. “We’ve eliminated those that are in Azkaban or out of the country.” 

Draco took a deep breath, steeling himself for where this list would take him. He’d worked with his Mind Healer on processing and compartmentalising his memories from the war, because if he didn’t, he wouldn’t be able to do anything but relive those days, wishing desperately he’d had the strength to be a better person. He looked at the list, recognising some of the names, like Lavender Brown, but not others. “We should cross-reference this with the addresses of the warehouse and the potions shed and see if we get any matches.” 

“Already done.” 

“And?” 

“There were no matches.” Pansy had a glint in her eye. “But, when we anagrammed the names, we found a certain Hamzahs Satiric, which is an anagram for Zacharias Smith, rented the warehouse at the beginning of the year.” 

“Zacharias Smith, the Hufflepuff?” Pansy nodded in response. “I didn’t even know he’d been Turned.” 

“Apparently so.” 

“Fuck. A Hufflepuff.” Draco knew this was not the most important thing to be focusing on, but he was almost delirious. They knew who was responsible for the attacks, for kidnapping Potter. “I didn’t know he had it in him.” 

Pansy gave Draco a stern look. “You, more than anyone, know how much people can change in ten years. We both do.” 

“I know, I know. We’re just so close and my mind is all over the place.” Draco couldn’t help the tears that filled his eyes. Damn Veela transformation. 

“We’re going to find him.” Pansy offered him a handkerchief. 

“So what are we going to do next?” Draco asked, wiping his eyes and blowing his nose. 

“Well, when we looked for properties that Smith rented or owned, we found a dozen across Britain.” At Draco’s desperate look, Pansy held up a finger. “But we were able to eliminate all but two of them, which are right here in London. Both of them could be good candidates for where he took Harry.” 

“Well, which place are we going to visit?” Draco needed to do something. He could feel it in his veins, the call to find Potter. 

“We’ll be going with Ron, Lucy, and a team of special ops to the second location, which we’ve calculated to have a slightly lower chance of housing them.” At Draco’s protest, Pansy continued, “We think for just that reason, Smith would’ve chosen it.” 

“When do we go?” 

“Tonight.”


	15. Chapter 15

Draco was nervous. They had assembled their team of Aurors and were preparing to raid the building in central London. It was too much like the evening when he’d first turned into a Veela and that did not bode well for their rescue mission. 

“Here you go,” Lucy whispered, handing him a paper cup. Draco took a drink and the warmth of the tea calmed him. 

“How did you even get this? I thought Flour Power had already closed.” 

Lucy winked at him. “Magic.” 

“Well, thank you.” Draco nudged her and she nudged him back. Despite the circumstances, Draco was extremely glad to have someone like Lucy by his side. She took no shite and was always willing to stand up for what she believed in, even when that happened to be a Veela who was also an ex-Death Eater. 

“We don’t know for sure Harry is being held at this location, but we have strong reason to suspect that he is,” Weasley told the group. “So we’ll have to approach the situation carefully and be ready to react quickly in case Smith decides to do something drastic to Harry.” 

Draco had to stop a keening cry from escaping his lips at the thought of harm coming to Potter. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He knew that it was his recent Veela transformation that was wreaking havoc on his emotions, but that didn’t make them any easier to manage. 

Both Lucy and Pansy each reached to place a comforting hand on his shoulder. “We’ll get the bastard who did this,” Pansy promised. 

“We will also have to be on the lookout for Smith’s lackeys,” Weasley continued. “As those of you who were with us when we raided the warehouse will remember, they’ve certainly got a few tricks up their sleeves.”

Draco stopped listening after that, his mind too numb to focus on anything that wasn’t Potter, Potter, Potter. Or rather, Harry, Harry, Harry. For he couldn’t go back to being Potter, not after everything. 

“It’s time to go,” Lucy said, and Draco looked around Harry’s mostly empty kitchen. “They said we could go last because, well,” she looked at him kindly, “We all figured you could use a moment to collect yourself.” 

“Thank you,” Draco replied, meaning it from the bottom of his heart. Although the Ministry had been absolute shite to him, he had some of the best friends and colleagues a person could ask for. “Side-Along with me?” 

“Of course.” Lucy walked over and grabbed Draco’s arm. “We make a pretty good team, don’t we?” 

“We most certainly do.” Draco closed his eyes and pictured the side street where they had been instructed to Apparate and felt the twist in his stomach as they spun out of the kitchen. 

They landed with a soft _pop_ on the pavement and immediately drew their wands. Pansy and Weasley were off to the side and Draco and Lucy headed over to them. 

“Good, you’re here.” Weasley clapped him on the shoulder in a surprisingly friendly gesture. It wasn’t that Draco didn’t like the man, but they had never got on as well as he had with the others. But maybe there was time to change that. “As we talked about before, Pansy and I will be taking the lead on this operation while you and Shaw follow. Our main goal is to extract Harry with minimal fighting. But,” Weasley continued, grim determination in his voice, “If it comes down to it, don’t be afraid to use anything in your arsenal to get Harry back. This fucker kidnapped the wrong hero.” 

Draco’s blood sang. He would do whatever it took to see his mate to safety, Ministry protocols be damned. 

Pansy and Weasley shared a complicated look and then they were off into the night. Lucy and Draco waited a few moments, and then followed. The part of central London they were in had streetlights illuminating every few feet of pavement. Draco wasn’t sure they were in the right place—it all seemed a little too nice for their purposes, but he trusted Pansy. 

Pansy had stopped in front of a plain looking building and she tilted her head towards it. Draco nodded back and she went on ahead. They followed and found themselves in a dimly lit corridor. Weasley was checking each door carefully, searching for Harry’s magical signature. 

Draco and Lucy stood by the front door, their eyes on the street. The specialised ops team was waiting out front, wary of Smith sounding the alarm. 

“We’re going to search the next floor,” Draco heard in his earpiece. “You and Lucy keep watching the front. We know that it’s the only real entrance or exit because we’ve already blocked the other ones.” 

“On it,” Lucy responded. Draco hated being left behind, but he knew Weasley and Pansy were the more experienced Aurors. There weren’t many people whom he’d trust with Harry’s life, but they were two of them. 

“Hey, we’ve got this,” Lucy assured him. “Pansy and Weasley are two of the best—they won’t let anything happen to him.” 

Draco gave her a wan smile. “Thank you for putting up with my bullshit.” 

“We’re partners, remember? We support each other through thick and thin,” Lucy reminded him, and Draco knew it was pointless, but he hoped they’d remain partners for a long time. “Looks like we’ve got company,” she said, pointing at the ops team who were running towards them. 

“Fuck.” 

As the ops team approached, Draco could see they were not alone. Spells and curses lit up the night and it was difficult to tell who was on which side. But as they continued to move closer to the door, it became clear that the special ops team was slowly being forced back.

Draco and Lucy ran into the fray, wands drawn. Draco spared a quick thought for Pansy and Weasley, hoping they’d successfully handle Smith, and then turned his mind to the task at hand. These fuckers wanted to hurt his mate. Draco wouldn’t let them. 

He raised his wand and began to cast, his mind chanting _Harry, Harry, Harry_ , like a steady drum. “ _Stupefy_ ,” he crowed at his first attacker, who dodged with some fancy footwork. 

“ _Crucio_ ,” they returned. Draco dove to his left, rolling and righting himself on his feet. It seemed like they had no compunctions about using Unforgivables. Well, neither did he. He might’ve been reformed, but he was still willing to do whatever it took to save Harry.

“ _Imperio_ ,” he whispered. “Stop fighting. Put down your wand.”

Lucy screamed, and Draco whipped his head around, searching for her. She was ten feet away, clutching her side. Draco ran to her and dispatched her attacker without a second glance. “Are you okay?” 

“I…” she drew in a ragged breath, “just need a quick Healing spell.” She pulled her hand away from her side and Draco could see she’d been grazed by a _Diffindo_ and that it was deep. 

“You need a Healer.” 

“I’m not going to leave you alone,” she protested. When Draco kept his features stern, she pleaded, “Please, don’t make me go. I promise that I’ll get myself a Healer as soon as this is all over.” 

Draco sighed. He knew there was no use fighting stubborn Gryffindors. “Fine. But the minute we’re done, you’re gone.” He caught her gaze. “Okay?”

“Yes, yes.” She shrugged him off. Draco knew that was the best he was going to get, so he cast the Healing spell. 

When he turned back to the fight, he saw the situation had become worse. More of Smith’s hired help had shown up, and although these were some of the most elite Aurors, they couldn’t all fight multiple attackers at once. Draco knew they had to do something drastic. 

“As soon as you can, I want you to meet me back by the main entrance to the building.” 

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to save our arses,” Draco said grimly.

Draco turned his gaze inwards, slowing his breathing and his heart rate, and visualised the Veela transformation. He’d been practicing the change, but he hadn’t quite managed the full transformation. It didn’t matter. He was going to do it now. He had to. 

His hearing changed, sharpened, and he could hear the sizzle of spells. When he opened his eyes, he could see much better in the dim light. He stepped away from Lucy and began to survey the wreckage. 

He spread his wings wide and flapped them a few times so he could gain some altitude and take in the entire scene before him. It was still dark, but magic and his enhanced eyesight made it possible to see what was going on. All of the fighters slowly started to take notice of him, but they were wary. They pointed their wands up, but didn’t cast any spells. 

“Stop fighting,” he commanded, putting as much of his Slytherin charm into each word as he could. “We are not the enemies.”

They all looked at each other in confusion. A few of them tried to use their wands to cast spells, but found that they couldn’t. It was thrilling to have complete control over the situation, to be able to use his Veela allure for something _good_ —stopping violence and protecting his mate.

“Place your wands on the ground and begin walking towards the tall birch tree.” Slowly, everyone complied, even those who were on Draco’s side. “Now, please stay there until I direct you otherwise.” Draco opened his bag, which Hermione had charmed, and _Accio_ ’d all of their wands. Once done, he slowly floated back down and called for Lucy. 

She shook off his compulsion and came running over. “I’m sorry I had to do that.” 

She looked around the scene, looking at where everyone was standing in a loose circle by the birch tree. “I’m just glad you ended it before more severe damage was done.” 

“How’re you feeling?” 

“Okay, but I’ll be glad when this is over.” 

“Then let’s end it.”


	16. Chapter 16

When they found the third door on the third floor open, they both looked at each other in concern. It didn’t seem like a good sign that it was flung wide, and they couldn’t hear anything coming out of the flat. Draco motioned for Lucy to follow behind him and cautiously entered. 

The first thing that struck him was how gaudy everything was. It was decorated in the most hideous decor Draco had ever seen, and he’d lived in a home that had the interior stylings of the Dark Lord himself, so that was saying a lot. There was so much to look at that Draco’s eyes couldn’t focus on one thing, rather flitting from the severed boar’s head mounted on the putrid green wall to the tacky burnt orange sofa to the world’s ugliest chandelier hanging from the twenty foot tall ceiling. 

Someone cleared their throat and Draco snapped his head up towards the sound. Standing at the top of the left curved staircase, he found a tall, skinny, blond-haired man with skin paler than Draco’s. “Admiring the decor?” he asked gleefully, gesturing around the room. 

“You could say that, yes,” Draco hedged, manners still firmly in place even though he was talking to a suspected murderer. “It’s quite…” he trailed off, searching for the right word, “Unique.” 

“Thank you. Coming from one such as yourself, I find the compliment humbling.” Draco could not stand the man’s ingratiating tone, nor his gauche decor, but he’d play nice if it got them what they needed. He began to surreptitiously look around the flat for any sign of Pansy or Harry or Weasley, but was stopped by Smith continuing. “Looking for your friends?” He laughed maniacally. “Don’t worry; I’m taking good care of them.”

“What did you do to them?” Lucy demanded, stepping out from behind Draco. Bless her soul, a Gryffindor through and through. Draco did have to admit he had a certain fondness for them. 

“Lucy Shaw, how nice of you to join us.” 

“Where are they, Smith?” 

“Oh don’t get your knickers in a twist.” Smith waved his hand and Pansy and Weasley fell out of a trap door in the ceiling, suspended by a thick rope and bound tightly with _Incarcerous_. “They’re right here.” Weasley was struggling against his bonds, and Pansy was trying to make eye contact with Draco, but they’d never truly perfected their eye-to-eye communication nor telepathy. “No, no, no, there’ll be none of that.” He whispered a spell and the two were immobilised. 

“You won’t get away with this, Smith.” 

“Oh I think I’ll be able to get away with quite a bit once the Ministry hears about my trump card.”

“We already know that you have Potter,” Lucy said. “And we won’t be negotiating for his release.” 

Draco had to call upon the veneer he’d perfected in the Dark Lord’s house to not react visibly to that. Even though he knew it was the plan, he still didn’t like it. His blood curdled at the thought of harm coming to Harry.

“Oh I think you will, once you hear what I’ve done.” 

“Well, then, please do tell us. We’re all ears.” Draco did not have any more patience for this man. He just wanted to save Harry and get out. 

“Impatient, are we?” Smith said, but Draco could sense that he was a hair’s breadth away from flying off the handle. “Just like Fenrir Greyback,” he spat his name like it was poison in his mouth. “He was too impatient to find the correct person You-Know-Who wanted Turned, and instead decided to Turn everyone who happened to be at the pub.

“I will never forgive him, or anyone who enabled him.” Smith looked at Draco like he was prey. Draco, never one to back down, stared back equally as intense. “I can’t tell you how happy I was to learn that you, Draco Malfoy, had Veela heritage. How ironic that now the Malfoy heir would have to suffer being as impure as those who he hated.” 

“I’m not the person I was at Hogwarts,” Draco insisted, edging closer to Smith. If they could just keep him talking, they could sneak up and on him. 

“Yeah, well, neither am I,” Smith responded, and Draco could hear the cruelty in his tone. “How could I be, after I became a _monster_? After every single thing in my life became dictated by forces outside of my control? Don’t you see?” he cried. “Creatures are dangerous. That’s why the Ministry needs to regulate us. Look at what Greyback did to me,” he gestured wildly. “We’re the monsters that haunt everyone’s nightmares—the world needs protection from us.” 

“We’re not monsters,” Draco insisted. “We have the capability of doing both good or evil, the same as anyone else.” There was a time when Draco would’ve agreed with Smith, but that was before he’d learned that he could choose differently. “Your choice to murder innocent people has nothing to do with the fact that you’re a werewolf.” 

“No, no, you’ve got it all wrong.” Smith started waving his hands wildly, getting riled up, which was good because it meant Draco and Lucy could try to get closer to him. “ _They_ did this to me. Those monsters made _me_ a monster.” Smith closed his eyes for a moment, and Lucy and Draco crept up opposite staircases. “And now,” he paused, sighing loudly and for dramatic effect, Draco was sure, “All _I_ want to do is prevent that from happening to someone else. Is that so wrong?” 

“No, not at all,” Lucy agreed. “You only want to make the wizarding world safer.” Smith’s attention snapped back to Lucy, and he guffawed. 

“Stop right where you are, or I’ll do it. I have no compunctions.” Smith pointed his wand directly at Pansy and Weasley. They both stopped as if they’d been immobilised. “And besides, my backup is on its way.” 

“Oh, you mean those people outside? We dealt with them already,” Lucy announced, doing a good job of not gloating. 

Real panic flared in Smith’s eyes at that. Figured. He was just a small man behind a strong army. “How?”

“Well, it seems that you gave me a nice gift when you revealed my Veela heritage. The Veela allure is truly something special.”

“No,” Smith cried. “Don’t you see how dangerous you are? If they’re not coming, I’ll just have to handle this myself.” Smith started to transform, and Lucy and Draco both took a step back. His features elongated and stretched, his nose becoming lupine, his teeth sharpening. 

Draco looked at Lucy and jerked his head towards Pansy and Weasley. She nodded in acknowledgement. Draco himself prepared to face Smith. He spread his wings wide and vaulted over the bannister, careful not to hit the chandelier nor Pansy and Weasley. He swooped over to Smith and grabbed him by the waist, dragging them both through the wide archway and into the hallway beyond. 

Smith wriggled out of Draco’s grasp, crashing hard to the floor. Draco slid to a stop and turned, his beady eyes seeking Smith’s. 

“Where is Harry Potter?” he screeched, turning the full force of his allure on him. 

Smith shook his head. “I’m sorry, baby doll, but that doesn’t work on other creatures.” He extended his claws and lunged. 

Draco propelled himself backwards and screamed, “ _Immobulus_.” Smith moved faster than a human out of the path of the spell and shot back with an _Avada Kedavra_. Draco dove and slid on his stomach, grabbing Smith by the ankles and pulling him down. His claws were slashing at Draco, but Draco didn’t care. He manoeuvred himself on top and put all of his weight on Smith, then pointed his wand directly at Smith’s face. “ _Incarcerous_.” Thick ropes bound Smith’s midsection. Draco made sure Smith could still talk, but that was it. “I’m not going to ask you again. What did you do to Harry Potter?” Draco could sense Harry was in the flat, but he didn’t know where. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Draco gritted his teeth. “I would in fact like very much to know.” He glared. “If you just tell me, we can both be on our way.” 

“I’m not really in the mood to cooperate.”

“I’ll show you fucking cooperation.” Draco threatened, pushing his wand into Smith’s side. When Smith only continued to mock him, Draco cast a Stinging Hex. Smith screamed, and Draco stopped. 

“What about Ministry protocols?” Smith asked, each breath laboured. 

“I do not give a fuck about protocols,” Draco snapped, punctuating each word with a jab of his wand. “You’ve tortured and murdered innocent people, and more importantly, you’ve hurt my mate. So tell me what happened to Harry Potter or I can promise you, next time I won’t be using a Stinging Hex.”

That seemed to convince Smith. “I didn’t do anything.” At Draco’s incredulous look, he whimpered. “I promise. I tried, you know. I was going to Turn him and then unleash him on the public at large, forcing the Ministry to take drastic action after their Golden Boy went on a killing spree.” 

Fuck. And it might’ve worked, too. Tensions were so high, and the Ministry was so desperate to redeem themselves in the eyes of the public, whatever it took. Even if they had to scapegoat the Chosen One. 

“But I wasn’t able to.” Smith looked off to the side, refusing to meet Draco’s gaze. “I couldn’t. I don’t know how he did it. He was drugged, just like the others. But when I went to Turn him, he was no longer there.”

“What happened to him?” 

“He’d turned into a bloody cat. A Muggle cat at that.” Draco’s mind was reeling. Did that mean the cat who Draco had befriended was Harry? Had been Harry the whole time? Fuck. Draco had said a few things, in confidence, to the cat. 

“Where did he go?” 

“He ran off. I’m not sure where he went.” Without another word, Draco gagged Smith and left him for Lucy and Pansy and Weasley. They’d be able to manage him just fine. 

He had to find Harry.

* * *

Draco found Cat Harry trying to escape out a window. He caught him just before he could scamper out, and hugged him to his chest. Cat Harry meowed pitifully, but Draco did not let him go. “I think you should change back, Harry,” he whispered into his ear. He gently set Cat Harry down and backed up a little. 

They were in a small office, which seemed so plain in comparison to the entrance. Draco looked around, searching for any more clues about Smith’s operations, and also giving Cat Harry a bit of privacy to shift back into his human form. 

When he looked back, Cat Harry was still in cat form, giving him the most haughty look. If he were human, Draco would say that he was pouting. 

“No, Harry. It’s important that you’re human for this.” Draco himself had changed back into his human form when he’d left Smith bound. It’d come easier to him that time, and Draco knew that with more practice, it’d be as easy as breathing. Harry continued to look intensely at Draco, then down at his cat form. “Oh, you want some privacy to put on your clothes?”

Cat Harry meowed in response. 

“You know I’ve already seen all the important bits.” Draco couldn't help but smile at Harry’s apparent modesty. “But if that’s what it takes, then sure, I’ll turn my back.” Draco turned around and faced the door. He heard some shuffling, but he refused the temptation to look. 

Harry cleared his throat. “You can turn around now.” Draco did, and his heart almost burst out of his chest upon seeing Harry, his right hand behind his head, his hair a rat’s nest, his smile awkward, but charming, and real. Draco met Harry’s gaze and he saw the same warmth reflected there. “You called me Harry.” 

“It _is_ your name, you prat.” But Draco was smiling widely, and he didn’t care who saw. 

“Draco.” Harry’s smile was softer, his tone more reserved, but that was okay. They could work with that. Draco knew his change in demeanour might’ve seemed sudden from Harry’s point of view, but for Draco, it had simply been a matter of letting himself finally accept that he deserved to be happy. He wasn’t even as upset about the Animagus thing as he might’ve been before. Of course, they would be having a discussion about it, but Draco didn’t feel the need to nag, at least not right now. 

“I mean it, Harry.” Draco closed the distance between them and offered his hand. “I know how my Veela allure works. I know it had nothing to do with what happened that night.” 

Harry looked at Draco’s hand like a complex maths equation. 

After a moment that could’ve been mere seconds, or a single lifetime between rivals turned lovers, Harry grasped Draco’s hand firmly. He then used his grip to pull Draco into his arms, and he whispered in his ear, “But I think we can do better than a handshake, no?” Harry pulled their lips together and Draco’s heart was soaring, free.

* * *

Once Draco had found Harry, it was not long before the others did, too. Lucy and Pansy had run into the office, wands at the ready, but had lowered them when they took in the scene before them. They’d quickly brought each other up to speed, but time was of the utmost importance as they needed to handle Smith and his team. And even though Draco wanted nothing more than to go directly to Harry’s home, he needed to take Lucy to St Mungo’s. 

St Mungo’s had not been fast, as there were lots of people that needed healing, but Draco and Lucy had managed to pass the time. Lucy had repeatedly tried to get Draco to go see Harry, but he had refused until they’d seen a Healer. 

“You’re my partner, Lucy. I could never leave you alone in the hospital,” Draco insisted. “It’s us against the world, remember? Through thick and thin.” 

Lucy had smiled and taken hold of Draco’s hands—the gesture so reminiscent of something that Pansy would’ve done—and said, “This may just be the pain potions I’m on, but I want you to know how extremely lucky I am to have you as a partner, Draco.” She squeezed his hand. “After I graduated from the Auror Academy, I was worried about who I’d be partnered with, assuming it’d be with some arsehole who might say they were accepting, but then would turn around and mock me behind my back. But you were nothing like that, thank Merlin.” She laughed softly. “Instead, you were someone who understood what it was like for people to look at you and only see someone you used to be, not who you _are_.”

Draco didn’t know what to say, which was unusual for him. “You don’t have to say anything, Draco.” Lucy patted his hands. “Just know that you’re a good person, trying to do better each day. And know that you have a partner who will always stand by your side.” 

The Healer had come and helped Lucy, telling them she only needed to spend one night at the hospital. Once she’d left, Lucy had pushed Draco out the door, assuring him that she would be fine for one night with all of the St Mungo’s night staff to look after her. “Go and get your mate, Draco.” 

Draco had heaved a sigh, knowing she was right, and left St Mungos. He Apparated directly into Harry’s home, the wards having been keyed to him since that first night they’d slept together. He’d found Harry in the kitchen, attempting to make tea even though it was almost half one in the morning. 

Draco didn’t say anything for a moment, content to watch Harry as he moved about the kitchen. Draco wouldn’t admit it to anyone, but he was checking Harry for any signs of injury, any place where that bastard might’ve hurt him. 

“Are you going to help me, or just stand there watching?” 

“You were doing such a fine job of managing on your own,” Draco lied. 

“I know you’re lying, Draco”—Harry shook his head fondly—“but since you’re the one who’s so particular about his tea, you’re the one who will be suffering.” 

Draco strode over to the counter where the tea was steeping. “You heathen, how could you just leave the tea bags steeping? If you’re going to use a tea bag in the first place, you have to let the tea steep the right amount of time.”

Harry just chuckled and stepped back, his hands held up in defence. “I warned you; I’m shite at making tea.” Draco sighed, but Harry was right, and just this once, he let Harry’s abysmal tea-making skills slide. He poured two cups, making sure that he took Harry’s favourite mug.

“I didn’t come here to berate you about your abysmal tea-making skills.” 

“Oh?” Harry raised an eyebrow in mock surprise. “What _did_ you come here for, then?” Harry leered, and Draco blushed. 

“Not that, either,” Draco insisted. At Harry’s disbelieving look, Draco amended, “Well, not until we talk.”

“So, let’s talk.” 

Harry led them out of the kitchen and up the stairs to his living room, which was small but quite cosy. There was a plush midnight blue sofa and a matching pouffe, and one rocking chair in the corner. Harry sat down on the sofa, and gave Draco a challenging look. 

Draco already knew where he was going to sit. There was no doubt in his mind. 

Harry smiled when Draco took the seat next to him. It wasn’t a large sofa, and Draco could feel the warmth of Harry’s body from his knee to his shoulder. Draco took a sip of his tea and tried to gather his thoughts—he knew how he felt about Harry, and he was fairly certain Harry felt the same way, but still. Malfoys weren’t known for their emotional intimacy.

“You’re a cat,” is what Draco decided to start with. Harry blushed and looked away from Draco. 

“Er, yes.”

“And you were a cat all this time?”

“Well, not _all_ this time,” Harry hedged. “I was actually human for most of it.” 

“That’s not what I meant, Potter, and you know it. Why didn’t you tell me sooner? You had to know I felt bad about letting a random cat into your home.” 

“Not bad enough to stop doing it,” Harry pointed out.

“You’re not giving yourself enough credit. You’re a damn cute cat.” 

“To answer your earlier question, I didn’t know how to. It was easier, sometimes, to be with you as a cat. You were more open, less guarded. I could tell that it was calming for you to be around me in my cat form, and I liked being helpful.” Harry set his tea down and reached for one of Draco’s hands. Draco accepted it, even though he felt like a heroine from one of Pansy’s Muggle Victorian romances. “After that night, I’d just stepped out for some fresh air. I had every intention of talking about this.” He pulled Draco’s hand in a back-and-forth motion between them. “But then, you told me you thought it had only happened because of the allure, and I thought you were just using it as an excuse.”

Draco squeezed Harry’s hand. “I really wasn’t. I couldn’t think of any other reason that you’d have left the next morning, unless you’d regretted what had happened.” 

Harry shook his head vehemently. “Never, Draco. I never regretted it for one second.”

“I know it wasn’t the allure. Even before Fleur told me about Veela mates, I knew, deep down, that there was no deception between us.”

“Mates, huh?” 

Draco had to refrain from cuffing Harry on the head—it would have ruined the moment. But then he decided that he didn’t care; they’d never stood on ceremony before. 

“Ow, what was that for?”

“Like you didn’t know we were mates way before I did, you arse.” 

“I couldn’t know for sure,” Harry protested. “Just because I’m a creature expert doesn’t mean I know _everything_ there is to know about _all_ creatures, especially not when it comes to you.” 

“Well, this is me confirming it. I’m sure, down to my very core, that you’re my mate.” Draco, who was suddenly unsure about Harry, added, “If you want to be, of course.” 

“Now who’s being the arse?” Harry asked, sending the mugs down to the kitchen with a wave of his wand. “Let me convince you that I want this, too.”

“There’s really no need,” Draco insisted, always trying to be the gentleman. 

“This isn’t about need, darling, this is about want.” Harry emphasised his point by pressing soft kisses along Draco’s jawline. “Let me show you. You be a good boy and lie down and let me take care of you.” 

Draco started to protest, but Harry stopped him with a finger over his lips. “Please, for me?” And Draco, who had never been able to deny Harry anything, acquiesced. It wasn’t exactly a hardship. 

Harry pushed Draco down onto the sofa and then straddled Draco’s hips. He settled comfortably, making Draco’s cock aware of the proceedings in the process. “I think there’s a bit too much clothing here.” Harry drew one finger along Draco’s chest, where his shirt was in tatters due to his earlier transformation. “If you would be so kind…” 

Draco sighed but did as Harry asked, Vanishing their clothing. “I thought you’d said something about me just lying back and thinking of England?” He smirked, running one hand along Harry’s thigh. 

“If you’re thinking about England, then I’m not doing my bloody job right.” Harry smacked Draco’s hand away. “Now, you just sit there and look pretty.” There was a gleam in Harry’s eyes that Draco wanted to explore, but he knew there would be plenty of time in the future. So, he set his hands on the plush velvet sofa and waited for Harry to make the first move.

Harry didn’t take long, bending forward and bringing his lips to Draco’s in the sweetest kiss. Draco was eager for more, but he didn’t want Harry to stop, so he gripped the sofa tighter. Harry deepened his kisses, moving his lips desperately along Draco’s. He reached one hand between them and began stroking Draco’s cock to full hardness. Draco couldn’t help but thrust up into Harry’s hand. 

Harry didn’t stop, rather he gripped both of their cocks in his hand and the added friction had Draco on edge. “Please, Harry,” he moaned, wanting more. 

“I’ve got you, love” Harry panted, sitting up and twisting around. Draco couldn’t see what Harry was doing, damn the man for choosing this particular position, but he could very well imagine how Harry was using his thick fingers to stretch himself wide. With the mental picture of Harry and the sensation on his cock, Draco had to use all his willpower not to come right that second. But he knew that if he could just hold on…well, it’d be worth it.

Draco gasped when he felt cool lube trickling down his cock, but Harry’s hand soon warmed it. Too soon, Harry drew his hand away, but then he was lining himself up and sliding onto Draco’s cock with a strangled yelp. Draco held his breath as Harry’s tight heat threatened to overwhelm him. He reached a hand up to Harry’s hip to steady him. “Thanks,” Harry breathed, his eyes wild, his cheeks flushed, cock hard and dripping, the very picture of every fantasy Draco had buried deep. “I just need a moment to adjust.” 

“Been a while, huh?” Draco couldn’t help but tease, stroking Harry’s hip lightly. 

“Not that long, you git, but long enough.” Draco found that he didn’t really want to think about Harry’s previous partners, but Harry seemed to have found his bearings because he started moving along Draco’s cock with enthusiasm. 

Draco couldn’t help how his hips thrust to meet Harry’s, and Harry met him thrust for thrust, crying out when their angle was just right. Harry’s motions picked up speed as he worked himself over Draco’s cock, and Draco couldn’t hold on one moment longer. He came with a moan and collapsed fully into the sofa, spent. 

He could hear Harry furiously thrusting into his own hand, and then there was a warm weight against his chest.

“Did I convince you?” Harry whispered into Draco’s shoulder. 

Draco found he had just enough energy to lightly bop Harry on the head. “Yes, but next time, let me take care of you.” Draco could feel Harry’s smile. 

“That sounds perfect to me, my mate.”


	17. Chapter 17

It was a warm day in early May and Draco wished he could be anywhere else. He wouldn’t have even come if Harry hadn’t looked at him with those big eyes and that smile and told him that his presence there would be a help. It was going to be a shite day all around, and since Harry had to go—he was the guest speaker—Harry thought Draco should too.

When Draco had tried to protest that there was quite a difference between Harry Potter, Golden Boy, Saviour of the Wizarding World, and Draco Malfoy, ex-Death Eater, Slytherin, Harry had retaliated by tickling Draco so much that he was gasping for breath. 

Harry’d tried to convince Draco that he’d changed from that boy at Hogwarts, and that other people recognised it, too. Draco had saved the public from Smith and he’d been awarded an Order of Merlin: First Class. But Draco knew that wasn’t enough for some people, that he’d never be enough. 

“Fuck those other people, I’m the one asking,” Harry had responded.

So, because Draco Malfoy could never deny Harry Potter anything, he’d come along, and now he wanted nothing more than to escape.

“You don’t have to be so tense, darling.” Pansy placed her hand gently on Draco’s shoulder. “The firing squad isn’t going to come for you or anything.” 

“You’re practically a hero,” Lucy added from Draco’s right. “We’re all heroes.” 

Draco shook his head. “You know that doesn’t mean anything. The Ministry only gave us those awards because the media coverage changed. Instead of crying about protecting the wizarding world from creatures, they started demanding we be honoured for saving everyone from Smith.” 

“Do you want to say that any louder?” Pansy chastised. “I don’t think they heard you in space.” Draco looked around, and while people were looking at them, he didn’t think it was because of what he’d said. 

Even though it’d been 10 years since the war, some people had still not moved on. He could feel it in their stares, in the ways that they pulled their children closer when he walked by. The big bad Slytherin. But Draco knew Harry was right, and these people would never change their minds about him. 

With regards to the Ministry, well, they could go fuck themselves. Draco was putting in his two weeks’ notice on Monday. He’d never be able to change some people's opinions of him, and he was tired of being treated like shite all the time. He didn’t deserve it. And being a Veela certainly wouldn’t make things any easier. They’d been happy enough to have him back once he’d saved their arses, but he wasn’t going to put up with it anymore. 

In fact, he and Lucy were planning on opening up their own detective business. They’d become such good partners in the short amount of time that they’d worked together and she hadn’t wanted to keep working for the Ministry. And even though she was new, Draco knew she would be a great business partner. They were planning on providing their services to those whom the Ministry often overlooked or didn’t care enough about to conduct thorough investigations. He was quite excited, and couldn’t wait to see the look on Robards face when he told him he was going to quit. 

“Shh, it’s starting,” someone announced loudly from the back, and everyone turned to glare at them. 

Minerva McGonagall strode out onto the platform, looking sharp in muted blue robes and an extremely pointy hat, and began giving her opening remarks. Draco was only half-listening, instead, straining his eyes for Harry. He started listening again when he heard her mention his name. “I would like to welcome our guest speaker, a man who needs no introduction, Harry Potter.” The crowd erupted in cheers and Harry took the stage with a politely forced smile. 

“Hello, everyone. Minevra, thank you for having me. I’d like to start by taking a moment of silence to remember all those we lost.” Draco reached out his right hand and found Pansy’s waiting. They gripped each other tightly, their hands clammy with sweat. He knew they were both thinking of Vincent Crabbe. Of all the pain and suffering that the Dark Lord had caused. Of the ways that their society had been forever changed by his rise to power.

When Harry started speaking once more, there were tears in his eyes. “They tell me that my mum hated eating treacle tart. Can you believe that?” He paused, and there were a few chuckles. “As many of you know, I would eat treacle tart for breakfast, lunch, and dinner if I could get away with it.” There were a few more laughs. “I always thought my love of sweets must have come from my dad. 

“I wouldn’t be here without either one of them, but especially not without my mum’s sacrifice. You all know the story, of course.” Harry paused, letting them all remember. “And in this moment, as we reflect on this anniversary, I’d like us all to remember what her sacrifice was for.

“My mum died to stop Voldemort.” Draco could hear the murmur that went around the audience at those words. People still found themselves looking over their shoulder whenever the name was uttered, even though ten years had passed since his death. “She died to stop a man, a monster, really, from tearing apart the world she loved, the world that had accepted her with open arms.” 

“And now, more than ever, it is important to remember the kind of world that she was fighting for, a world where a person’s Blood Status doesn’t affect their lives, doesn’t mean that they have less access to schools or jobs.” He let that sink in. 

“I know you have all heard about the creature case that the DMLE just closed, thanks to the work of a few very brave individuals.” Draco tried to remain unaffected by Harry’s words, but he could feel a smile steal over his face. Damn his Veela nature. “Smith was doing his best to bring us closer to a world that both my parents fought so hard against. In his warped mind, he thought the end justified the means. He stirred up fear and hate, even going so far as to murder people, hoping to cause us to turn against our friends and family. 

“But we are stronger than that.” Draco huffed softly. They weren’t; he knew that quite well, but it was important that now, more than ever, Harry reminded them of who they _could _be. “We will not let another person tell us how we should treat those who might be different than us, for it is these differences that make us stronger.__

__“So, please join me in honouring the lives of those who fought for a better future.”_ _

__Harry finished to roaring applause, and Draco joined in. He hoped people took Harry’s message to heart, that they remembered why the war had happened in the first place, why it was so important to continually fight against the daily injustices, to work together towards a more equitable and just society._ _

__“That was a good speech, Harry. I know he would’ve appreciated a few more jokes, but well, you can’t win them all.” Weasley said, clapping him on the back, his eyes a little misty. Harry pulled Weasley into a hug, and Draco knew they both were remembering Fred. “Hopefully people listen, and learn, and remember. “_ _

__“I hope so, too.”_ _

__The others drifted off slowly and Draco and Harry were finally alone. “See? It wasn't so bad.”_ _

__“Maybe not for you. You didn’t have any ladies in fancy hats giving you death glares.” Draco playfully shoved Harry’s shoulder. Harry caught his hand and brought it up to his lips._ _

__“Thank you,” he said earnestly. “I know this was hard, and I really appreciate that you came.”_ _

__“I only do that for blokes I really like,” Draco teased, wanting to lighten the mood and simply unable to resist bringing that red flush to Harry’s cheeks._ _

__“You rascal,” Harry admonished, pulling Draco in for a kiss. He pulled away and whispered in Draco’s ear, “But later, you promise?”_ _

__Draco nodded. There was nothing he wanted more than to be with his mate._ _

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is part of HD Erised 2020; thank you so much for reading! You can show your appreciation for the author in a comment below. ♥


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